Battle Scars (3 page)

I winced, thinking of two Felis facing off against each other over some real or imagined slight. When Changed we manifested claws and fangs along with fur obscuring our features, but a lot of damage could be done with “just” claws and fangs.

Jess had lost an eye over it.

“What started this one?” Bran asked.

“None of your business.” The underlying steel in her voice reminded us both that Bran was on the edges of Felis society, as I was—tolerated when necessary. She liked him but he still had a long way to go before being accepted by the family.

As if either of us gave a crap.

“If I find one I’m going to probably find the other.” I pushed the conversation back to business. “What are the Chandlers doing to find the boy? Am I going to butt heads with the competition? Are they sending out their own hunter?”

Jess chuckled. “The ironic part is that I was about to refer them to you. Mary Chandler is a widow with one grown adult son and she’s not about to send him down to Toronto to start sniffing around for his brother. She’s got friends who are eager to help but I convinced her to keep this as low-key as possible and offered you as an alternative to getting more people involved. The less, the better for all of us.”

She wasn’t just talking about keeping the feuding members apart. We’d kept our family secret for centuries from human society and it was her job as a Board member to do everything she could to keep our existence off the grid.

Having a major brawl between families in the middle of Toronto wasn’t going to happen if she could help it.

She let out an annoyed snort. “Middleton, ass that he is, didn’t tell me he needed help finding his daughter. He asked for someone to do a security check on some new farm hands he was thinking of hiring, temporary help and all humans. I figured you needed the work and gave him your number.”

“I could use the money but not if I’m going to be walking into the middle of a Felis Hatfield/McCoy feud.” I paused before asking the next question. “What’s your call on this?”

“My what?” Jess replied.

“What’s the Board’s position on this?”

Bran gave me a questioning look. I waited, unsure which answer I wanted. The Board controlled and led the Pride in many areas but I wasn’t sure where runaway kids fell in their never-ending political games.

“I’m not calling you on behalf of the Board. I’m calling you because Mary Chandler is a good friend who needs help,” Jess said. “If you choose to take her case as well I’ll get her to transfer the funds into your account today.”

“And the Board’s position is?”

“We don’t have one. We don’t choose sides.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Can’t or won’t?”

“The Board isn’t going to choose which family to support. Haven’t in the past and sure won’t now, not when it’s nothing but a pair of runaway kids who might just as easily turn up at home in the next few hours.” She paused and I could hear her choosing her words carefully. “At this point it’s nothing that should concern the Board. Personally I’ll be happy if you take the second case, but whatever you decide is fine with the Board and with me. You can dump both cases if you want. Jake’ll be upset if you turn him down but he’ll get over it.”

“Give me a minute.” I imagined a set of scales in my mind and started tossing weights on each side. Helping was almost mandatory for me as a fellow Felis but I wasn’t keen on getting caught between two angry families. I had no doubt people had been burned in the past on both sides and I didn’t need the trouble.

The problem, again, was that if I said no I could see Middleston and/or Chandler sending in their own family friends to find the kids and opening a huge can of trouble in my city. It’d be like setting a bull loose in a china shop, or in this case a clumsy lion thrashing around.

I had no doubt if that happened I’d be pulled in either to help clean up the mess or cover up the blood.

At least if I took the case it’d be on my own terms.

“How many runaways have you found over the years?” Bran touched my shoulder, making me jump.

“A few. A handful, to be honest.” I tried not to sound defensive, knowing Jess was still listening. “Most of them go home after a week of lying on cold pavement, ready to warm up to their parents again. Usually they leave over a small thing, curfews and crap like that. I usually hit the bus station first and then walk the streets for a few nights until they come up. Get Hank to call the beat cops and put the fear of God into the homeless kids until they run home to mom and dad.”

I flinched inside, thinking about Hank Attersley. The police detective and I hadn’t spoken since he’d had to take me in for my involvement with the Hanovers and Bran’s half-brother. I wasn’t sure if I could count on him for help right now.

Bran cleared his throat. “That could take weeks.”

“It could,” I admitted. “These are kids used to roughing it, not pampered socialites looking to scare their parents because they didn’t get a sports car for their birthday.”

Bran nodded. “You’ll need my help if you want to find them fast. I know it’s been a few years but I can help you cut corners, save you wasting time in some areas and maybe use some old contacts.” He grinned. “Not to mention two heads are better than one, even when one’s mine.”

I bit down on my lip, feeling the skin threaten to split.

“Are you going to be okay with this?” Jess asked the question I was thinking.

“I owe you,” Bran answered. He wasn’t wrong—Jess had been a major factor in finding and saving his baby half-brother a month before. “I always pay my debts. Say the word and I’m with her on this.”

Jess chuckled. “As if I could keep you out of her business.” Her tone shifted. “Rebecca, are you going to be okay taking him along?”

I hesitated just long enough for Bran to take and squeeze my hand.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, the faster we find those two kids the faster this entire thing is over.” He smiled and flexed his free arm. “Better. Stronger. Faster.” He pointed down at his shorts. “As you know.”

“Faster, yes.” I turned my attention back to the phone, ignoring his exaggerated wincing, and hoped Jess wasn’t getting the joke. “Jess, tell me the truth. Is this going to get nasty?”

She laughed, a low rumbling that both stirred the hunter inside and terrified me at the same time. “It always comes down to blood, Reb. Always down to the blood.”

Chapter Two

Within the hour I had all the pertinent information about Evan Chandler on my computer screen courtesy of an email from Jess, including a color photograph my printer screeched out to join the one of Lisa Middleston downstairs.

The young man had dark hair, cropped almost to the scalp, and a wide smile that would have a dozen girls tossing their panties at him on a good day. He cradled a classic guitar with the care and love of a mother for a newborn. It was easy to see how he’d be a dream date for a young Felis girl, especially if he was a bad boy by birth.

Standing at my desk I shoved the two photographs next to each other in a large envelope along with duplicates courtesy of my coughing photocopier. I didn’t want to get to the point of plastering their faces on each telephone pole in the city but it never hurt to be prepared to drop off copies. I also scanned the two pictures into my cell phone for backup.

Bran whistled as he came down the stairs wearing jeans and tugging on a light blue T-shirt with the Toronto Maple Leafs logo on it. I winced at seeing the pale pink scars on his chest.

We’d both taken a battering over the past few weeks, mentally and physically. I hoped this case would be less of both. We could use a little down time.

Bran strolled by me, adding a jaunty strut to his walk. “Enjoying the view?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make me regret taking you to the Cat’s Meow.” Saying the name of the strip club in Penscotta, Pennsylvania stirred up old memories. That was where he’d gotten the scars and we’d cemented our relationship.

Then he made a less-than-subtle shift of his hips and I forgot what I was remembering.

I resisted slapping his butt as I followed. “It’s time for work.”

“Your call.” He trotted into the kitchen, where the kettle had just started to scream.

“I figure we’ll start at the bus station.” I threw a handful of cat treats on the floor as Jazz padded down the stairs toward us. She trilled as she dove on the tiny brown nuggets. “They’ve been in town at least a day or two but I’m hoping someone saw them, maybe pointed them toward a shelter.”

“Even if they hit the shelters they’ll be trying to get some money for food and maybe a hotel room to stay off the streets. It may be summer but it’s still nicer to sleep on a mattress instead of the ground. Whatever cash they brought won’t last for long and they’ll end up begging on Yonge Street for spare change.” Bran poured the hot water into my fat Brown Betty teapot. “That or busking. Any skills between them?”

“Busking?”

“Singing, dancing, whatever brings in the money.” Bran smiled as he prepared two mugs for us, adding a dash of milk to each. “Harder than begging but it has a bit more validity. Actually doing something for the cash and all that.”

I studied my notes. “I just call it panhandling. Evan took his guitar when he split. Not sure about Lisa.”

Bran nodded. “Busking, then. He’ll sing and she’ll either beg for cash or grab a bucket to bang on and supplement his songs.” He picked up the bag of cat treats and opened it. “Working together to survive.”

Jazz did her best impression of a feline ghost, appearing at his feet with a loud trill of starvation despite our previous interaction. I rolled my eyes as Bran dropped another handful of treats into her already-full bowl, ignoring my comment.

“She’s going to get fat.”

“Fatter.” Bran held up a finger. “And I like my women to have a little meat on their bones, thank you very much.”

I placed the file on the counter and busied myself with pouring out the tea into the two mugs. “I’m okay with you sitting out this one. If you’d rather work on your article—”

“I told you I’m fine.” He slammed his hand down on the countertop. The Brown Betty teapot shook and clattered.

Jazz vanished from the room in a white blur.

“I’m fine,” Bran repeated in a lower, softer tone.

I crossed my arms and waited.

“I’m going to be fine.” He lifted the lid off the teapot and peered inside. “I’m not going to sit at home here and let you run out there with the wild dogs. Some of those kids can be nasty and mean and a lot of them have more than just a sharp tongue to defend themselves.”

I could smell the sweat gathering on his forehead. Musky, tingling smell speaking of fear.

This was not going well.

“I can take care of myself. I was doing this before you came along, remember.” I tried to sound lighthearted, take the edge off. “You can stay here, work the phones. I expect you can run through the list faster than I can physically visit each and every shelter.”

He didn’t take the bait. “I won’t let you put yourself in danger unnecessarily. You don’t know the streets like I do.”

“Really.” The throbbing behind my eye increased ten-fold. I was tired of playing nice. “What the fuck do you think I was doing for years before you came along?” I grabbed the teapot. “Do you think I’m some helpless woman waiting to be saved?”

The pot swung around in my hand, steaming hot liquid shooting out the spout as I aimed for the mugs.

And missed.

I jumped as a splash of hot tea hit my hand. “Fuck.” I dropped the teapot back on the counter.

“Damn it.” Bran flipped the cold water on and grabbed my wrist. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

My first instinct was to pull away and bare my teeth, snarl at this man trying to dominate me.

His grip tightened. “Don’t fight me on this.” His jaw tensed up, his lips pulling into a straight line.

He yanked my hand under the flowing water.

I winced at the shock, the light burn now drowned out by freezing water. The tap sputtered for a second, spewing water over us before settling into a thin drizzle.

Bran moved in behind me, pressing his chest against my back. His free hand went around my belly to hold me still against the counter. “Don’t try to stop me from taking care of you. It won’t work.”

I felt his teeth nip at the back of my neck, his tongue running over freshly-healed marks. Marks he’d put there to stake his claim to me, to our relationship.

I growled. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Of course not.” His low voice both soothed and annoyed me, the heated air rolling over my ear. “And I don’t need to go out with you on the streets. But here we are and we’re both in agreement now.”

I squirmed, trying to shake his grip. The iron bar across my belly stayed put.

“I have faith in you being able to handle yourself,” he whispered. “But don’t blame me for wanting to top you every now and then. It’s an alpha male thing.”

I huffed and reached for the tap. The light burn had disappeared. “We’ll see about the topping.”

A soft kiss behind my ear and he released my wrist. “Now I’m hungry for pizza.”

“Work now, food and kink later.” I finished pouring out the tea into the two mugs, inspecting the teapot for any cracks.

Jazz poked her head around the corner, obviously more hungry than afraid.

Bran added a handful of treats to the overflowing food bowl as an apology to Jazz. He took his mug, a pensive look on his face. “Been a long time since I thought about the streets.”

I didn’t push.

Jazz plopped down in front of her bowl. She dipped her paw in and flipped one piece of food out before eating it off the dark blue mat we used to try and keep the kibble contained.

I looked at my watch. “After we finish this, let’s head to the bus terminal and see what we can find. If we’re lucky we’ll trip over the little buggers and have them back to their respective families by sunset.”

Bran sipped his drink. “I’ve finished the first draft on that article about Pennsylvania and need to let it steep for a bit.” He chuckled. “It’s a piece on small town business revivals. Used the strip club as an example.”

“Sounds good.” I sipped my tea and watched him.

He threw a saucy wink my way. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “I’m good, Reb. I’m good.”

The weariness in his eyes told me otherwise. But I couldn’t pass up on a chance to get some help and find these two before any blood got spilled.

Including ours.

I looked down at Jazz. “You stay here and guard the kibble.”

The white cat flipped another piece of food onto the floor and ignored us.

* * *

The Toronto Bus Terminal is located right at the intersection of Bay and Dundas, a sneeze’s distance away from Yonge Street, the main artery for the city. Two terminals—one for arrivals, one for departures and a handful of underground shops offering up food and magazines for the weary travelers too afraid to leave the area and go into downtown proper. Regular travelers bypass the snack shacks and go the extra block to the nearest Starbucks to hook into the free wifi between buses heading out to all points from New York City to the Great White North.

It wasn’t hard to pick up the newcomers hopping off the bus with a backpack and a handful of dreams, the wide-eyed visitors staring up at the towers circling around them. And easy to see the predators waiting in the shadows, watching and judging how fast they could pick up the sweet young things and put them to work in one way or another.

We pulled into a lot a half-block from the terminal, squeezing the Jeep between two black Hummers. The parking attendant grinned as he extorted three times the going rate for any other place in the city from me, pocketing the bills and touching the brim of his baseball cap.

I grumbled and led Bran back to the main street. “Highway robbery.”

He chuckled. “Just put it on your expense report. You know Jess’ll make sure you get reimbursed.”

I gave him the stink-eye. “That’s not the point. The point is that just because someone owns a piece of real estate that’s flat and empty they can ask whatever they want and people have to pay.”

“Until they sell it to a construction company so another condo can go up. Free enterprise.” Bran laughed again. “Might be a time when you end up buying a condo to park in—it’d be cheaper.”

We walked toward the terminals, choking on the amount of diesel fumes swirling around us.

“Place needs better ventilation.” He put one hand over his mouth and coughed.

“Place needs a lot more than that.” I grabbed his arm as a commuter bus pushed toward us, dangerously close to rolling over our toes as it maneuvered through the narrow street at a snail’s pace. “It wasn’t ever meant to have this much traffic.”

We headed toward a security officer standing to one side, watching the organized chaos. One sniff and I knew he was family, despite the overwhelming stink of urine, gasoline and various heavy body odors swirling around us. His uniform shirt was threadbare in spots, showing me he’d been on the job long enough to know what to look for.

He touched his cap as I introduced myself.

“Morning, folks. What can I help you with?”

“These two kits.” I showed him the photographs. “Runaways. Have you seen them come through here?”

He studied Bran standing by my side for a second before answering. “Kits? You mean kids, right?”

I sighed, remembering the first rule. Secrecy. Total secrecy about the Felis. The guard was simply trying to give me a way out of my obvious slip of the lip.

This guy was just following rules.

I hated rules.

I handed him a business card and watched his reaction, his lips moving silently as he read the embossed name and assorted information.

He looked up from the card, the surprise in his eyes weighed with a degree of distaste. Being outcast meant I had to fight for every inch of respect, from being a genetic freak to choosing a human mate.

“Rebecca Desjardin.” He said my name like he was spitting out cigarette ashes. “I’ve heard of you.” He bared his teeth. “Got nothing for you today.”

I wasn’t going to try and justify my existence. Not today.

“I’m working for Jess.” It wasn’t a total lie. “You can call her if you’d like. I’m sure she’d love to hear from one of our own who’s delaying my investigation.”

The security officer stood up a little straighter at mention of the Board member. Her reputation far outweighed mine and I wasn’t afraid to use it.

He glanced at Bran. I could see the conflict on his face, the fight between helping a fellow Felis and keeping secrets from a human.

I shoved the photos under his nose again, breaking his concentration and forcing an answer. “Have you seen them?”

“I see kids—I mean, kits, come through here every day,” he replied. “I could tell you I saw them but I’d be lying. They could have been here or not. I don’t keep track of all the foot traffic, I just make sure no one gets run over.” His thick eyebrows headed for a collision. “Is there a hunt? I didn’t hear anything about a hunt.”

The curiosity in his voice was tempered with fear. A hunt wasn’t called often but it was the equivalent of an Amber Alert, an all-points bulletin hitting every Felis in the area—potentially thousands of eyes turned toward finding one person. I’d seen it in action and it was full of awesome.

I cursed Middleston silently for not wanting to bring everyone in on this. It would have probably gotten him Lisa back the minute she hit the streets in Toronto, starting with this guard grabbing her right there in the terminal. But I could understand the embarrassment at having to admit losing control of his daughter.

Calling a hunt still would have made things easier.

“No, no hunt.”

The flash of relief over his face dissolved into a stoic stare. “Ah.” He studied the pictures again. “I don’t remember seeing them but there’s so many kids coming through these days.” He waved a hand at the bright sunlight cutting through the streets. “Summer brings them out of the woodwork. No school and they’re all looking for adventure. Come to the big city for a few weeks and see how the wild style works for them.” He shook his head. “Usually don’t.”

“I understand.” I handed him a set of the cheap photocopies I’d made and put the good ones back in the envelope. “If you do see them can you call me?”

“Will do.” He slipped the photos and my business card into a uniform pocket. “You might want to check out the spot.”

“The what?” I asked.

“The spot.” He paused, seeing my confusion. “The Spot. It’s a drop-in place just over on Yonge. Opened up about a year ago—usually there’s a volunteer ’round here handing out flyers to whoever needs one.”