Dog with a Bone (4 page)

Like a struck match, my imagination ignited. My fingers itched to thumb through those papers. I forced the tight lump down my throat. Rookies drew low-priority cases during OJT. That meant most training officers coasted for about six weeks while their temporary partners learned the ropes. Heck, after completing OJT, most marshals remained in the special operations division by choice, acting as glorified bounty hunters for the bonuses alone. That’s what Shaw had done, that’s what I wanted too.

Inspectors were stretched thin and shared across all divisions. They tended to burn out faster and either quit or drift back to spec ops.

Taking on this case, in that role, stamped a gold star on my resume.

“Do you need a moment?” His lips spread in a grin.

I shook my head, thoughts whirling. “Is the missus initiated?”

The number of initiated humans kept climbing every year as fae interbred with humans, but they were generally a tight-lipped community, given the fae they knew were their loved ones. In cases where blood wasn’t a good enough reason to protect fae secrets, a visit from a friendly, neighborhood marshal generally was.

“As far as we can tell,” he said, “she has no fae relatives or reason to know of our existence.”

“Can we access her client list?” I worried my lip. “Find out if any of her clients are initiated?”

He gave me a thoughtful look. “What are you thinking?”

“That it’s a tough economy. You’ve got to have serious connections with deep pockets to keep a business like hers in the black. Her husband’s might have proven too shallow. It took a lot of cash to float a ranch that size too.” I mulled over the remains of the fire. “Any evidence on site is toast.”

Shaw made a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement. I had missed something.

Rare fae. Humans. Greed. “At what temperature does iron melt?”

The tiny crinkles at the edges of his eyes told me he was pleased with the direction of my thoughts.

“Twenty-seven thousand and fifty degrees Fahrenheit,” he answered without hesitation. “Before you ask, the average house fire burns between nine hundred and eleven thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Even if you factor in the chimera’s breath that started it, it still won’t reach smelting temperatures.”

That was good news. “Were any cowbells found inside the house?”

“None in the reports I’ve seen.” When I deflated, he added, “They’re still sifting through ash. If any were recovered, it’s possible they haven’t been recorded yet.” He paused. “I hate stating the obvious, but it’s a working ranch. Cowbells can be explained away ten different ways from Sunday.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t belling,” I argued. “They just haven’t been caught.”

The term belling originated from the practice of hanging cowbells on leather collars around the creatures’ necks. Most fae suffered iron allergies, and most vintage cowbells were iron cast. Prolonged contact with the bell poisoned the fae. Bury a corpse intact and the iron, over a period of years, dissolved the flesh and bones, leaving no evidence of a crime.

Why bells? Early poachers chose an item that naturally went missing from farmers’ livestock and whose absence raised no one’s suspicions. Shocker, poachers were all-around thieves. They even pilfered their poaching supplies. If a farmer got pissed about it, then local boys would be found with stolen bells in their possession. The incident would be excused as a prank, the boys punished and the poachers given time to relocate their operation.

Through the years, later generations of poaching sickos kept the grisly tradition alive.

He held my gaze and waited. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”

Poaching rare animals from the fae realm was a capital offense. If you stole a treasure from Faerie, you paid for it with your life. No givebacks, no exceptions.

I chewed on my thumbnail. “What about the husband?”

“Lives on the ranch, handles the day-to-day operations.” Shaw’s lips pursed as he dredged through his memory. “Likes four-wheeling and hunting, as most good ol’ Southern boys do. He spent a small fortune on a storm shelter installation a few years back. After watching a grown man cry over a cow named Richardson’s Buck Ton Son of a Gun, I’m wondering if he didn’t build it big enough to accommodate his cattle too.”

“Stranger things have happened.” People could get downright weird about their animals. “Maybe we should forget the ranch and focus elsewhere.”

“By elsewhere,” Shaw said, “I assume you mean Dallas.”

I gave a slow nod. “The bigger the city, the dirtier its underbelly.”

He scratched his cheek. “I haven’t handled one of these cases in a while.”

Thanks to his stint as an instructor for yours truly. “If you’re not up to it...”

“We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon.” His eyes glinted. “I’ll book the hotel.”

“Separate rooms,” I blurted.

“I was thinking separate beds.”

I mentally stumbled. “I snore.”

“I know.” His gaze swept over me. “We’ve slept together before.”

Chimera-grade heat blasted into my cheeks. “There were nine other people there.”

His shoulder lifted. “Their tents weren’t next to mine.”

“You were the one who assigned lots,” I spluttered. Granted, there had been conclave-sanctioned restrictions on how far apart we got due to the nature of my talent and concerns for my fellow cadets’ safety, but still.

His features settled into an innocent expression. “I thought a rogue bear broke camp perimeter.”

I returned the favor. “Do you often run out of tents naked to confront danger?”

He didn’t blink. “Commando is more comfortable for me.”

“What about the rest of us? Nine other people saw your twig and berries.”

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed. “Twig?”

I struggled to keep my face neutral. “As in small stick?”

He huffed. “This is an inappropriate conversation to be having with—”

“I’m not a minor or a child or whatever other diminutive noun you were about to spew.”

“I was going to say my partner.”

“Oh.”

“I should let you get some rest.” He stood with a frown. “I didn’t ask. How are you feeling?”

“The energy from the chimera patched me up pretty well. I’ve got no complaints. You?”

His gaze drifted to the floor. “Same here.”

That explained a few things. Between the surprise of finding him on my doorstep and the shock of what he brought with him, I hadn’t absorbed the fact that he was mostly healed. A fair amount of light bruising remained, but the dark smudges would fade after he caught an hour or two of good sleep.

I saluted him with the envelope still held tight in my grip. “Thanks for bringing me the check.”

“No problem.” He lifted his hand, gaze pinned to the wall behind my head. “Night.”

“Night.”

He opened the door, hesitating on the threshold. “What you asked earlier.”

We had covered so much ground, he could have meant anything. “Yeah?”

“My answer is whichever one you’re in.” He slammed his palm into the casing then left.

I sat there, mind whirling. What had I asked? What had I said? What did he mean? Spearing my fingers through my hair, I tugged on the roots. As tired as I was, my brain was soup. I couldn’t think without it leaking out my ears.

I gave up and stomped to the bathroom, snatching my cell off the counter. I punched redial.

“Tee?” Mai sounded panicked. “You didn’t fall in the shower, did you?”

“Yes, Mai. I also showered with my phone in hand, just in case.”

“That’s not funny, Little Miss Head Injury.”

“I’m sorry.” I ground my palm into my eye. “I’m just tired and grumpy.”

“Is that why you called? Should I sing you a lullaby or read to you from Wiki?”

“Um, no. Thanks, but no thanks.” I wandered back to bed and lifted the check. “You know how I said it would take some time for me to save up my half of the deposit on an apartment and the utilities?”

“Yes, and I totally understand. No pressure. I can deal with moving home as long as I know it’s temporary.” She paused. “That’s not why you’re calling, is it? This is temporary, right? Thierry?”

“I got paid my first bonus today.”

“Wow. On your first day?” She exhaled on a whistle. “Go you.”

“It’s for twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“Damn.”

“Do you still have that list of apartments for lease on the fae side of town?”

“Yeah, they’re in my purse.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll take some tours and maybe sign some papers, okay?”

Her earsplitting squeal made me flinch.

“I’m hanging up now,” I yelled into the receiver.

She was still going strong when I hit the end button.

Crawling into the empty bed in my lonely room, I set the alarm and flipped off the lights.

Once my aching head hit the pillow, I remembered.

“...which bed do you prefer?”

“...whichever you’re in.”

W
ith the Dallas trip looming, I got a pass on clocking in at the office in favor of packing. Since I lived in jeans, sneakers and the faded T-shirts of boyfriends past, that took me all of twenty minutes.

Besides the bonuses for high-risk captures, my favorite job perk had to be the casual dress code.

After inhaling a raisin bagel, I dialed up a fae taxi service to drive me to the fae section of town. I was still picking at the blister bubbles on the heels of my favorite sneakers when the cabbie slammed on his brakes.

“This it?” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. His were yellow, his pupils elliptical.

Hey, I’m not saying the guy was a feline, but those eyes and that tone coaxed a growl out of me.

“Down, girl.” He flashed a mouthful of needlelike teeth.

Yep. Definitely a cat.

My gaze slid over the familiar McMansion the Hayashi family called home. “This is me.”

“You sure you’re not lost?” he pressed.

Ready for some fresh air, I gripped the door handle. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“I’m only checking ’cause you smell familiar, and I don’t want no trouble.” He drummed stubby fingers on the steering wheel. “If you light this place up, I don’t want no trail leading nobody back to me.”

“Light it up?” My palms went damp. “Who do I remind you of?”

“Macsen Sullivan.” He twisted to face me. “The spitting image. You related or something?”

“Or something.” I resisted the urge to flash my palm and ask how it compared to the original.

Two types of fae knew my father, those he worked with and those he brought down.

I learned early not to ask questions about Mac. No one, not even my mother, answered them.

The cabbie’s eyes cut left, and a purr rumbled in his chest. “Foxy lady. She a friend of yours?”

Through the glass I spotted Mai jogging down the drive to meet me. She wrestled two squirming kits in her arms, red furballs whose playful nips made her wince. I noticed the cat still staring. “Roll that sandpaper tongue back into your mouth.” I tossed a few bills into the front seat then stepped out.

He lowered the nearest window, whistled at Mai, then peeled out before I became a stereotype—I was not going to chase after that car to give him a piece of my mind.

Mai ignored the kit gnawing on her hair. “Did you forget to tip him or what?”

“Cat,” I said by way of explanation. “Who are those little cuties?”

“Margo and Fargo.” She rolled her eyes. “They’re my newest niece and nephew.”

“Twins?”

She snorted. “Does a fox have a tail?” The friskier of the two kits clamped onto her earlobe. Mai yelped, gripped its scruff and tugged, then held it at arm’s length. “We don’t draw blood on family.”

“Are you babysitting?” I pulled out my phone. “Is this a bad time? I can call for a pick-up. I’m sure Kitty McLitterbox would love to come back for me.”

“If you leave me,” she snarled, “I will hunt you down, chop you up and feed you to Grandmother’s koi.”

I believed her. “Are all kitsunes this violent, or are you the exception?”

She glanced toward the house. “You’ve met my mother and grandmother.”

“Good point.”

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Do you want to come in?”

I waved her on. “I’ll wait here.” The better not to become fish kibble for her grandmother’s scaly BFFs.

Mai huffed bangs out of her eyes but swallowed her lecture on how I needed to be socialized.

Once she turned her back, I indulged in a balance exercise and walked the curb. A misstep—stupid ankle—sent me stumbling into the grass. It was softer than the curb, so I sat and let my eyes go out of focus. The houses began fading, the road crumbled. The scent of fresh-cut grass in the air turned to dust in my lungs. As I sifted through the complex layers of glamour hiding this part of town from human eyes, the tidy subdivision faded from sight into a long dirt road going nowhere.

A door slammed shut behind me, snapping me from my thoughts.

“I assume we’re taking my car,” Mai called.

I blinked free of the camouflage, and the outlines of houses rushed back into clear focus. “Against my better judgment.”

“Good. No offense.” She pushed a button on her key fob, and the garage door opened. “But your mom’s car is on its last leg—wheel? She should put it out of its misery. It would be a mercy killing, seriously.”

“It’s not that bad.” Mom’s sedan was older than I was, but it had lasted this long. Parts of it anyway.

With a shake of her head, Mai slid behind the wheel of her celery-green coupe, a graduation gift of the nonreturnable kind, stomped on the gas and spun wide, almost sideswiping me in the process.

My knees were still knocking from my near-death experience when she lowered a window.

Patting the tiny bucket seat beside her, she called, “Hop in.”

I opened the door, folded myself inside and grasped the seat belt. Groping under my hip, I finally located the receptacle and rung the slot. She spun out before I took my right foot off the ground.

“Sorry,” she chimed. “You said we’re in a hurry, right?”

I nodded, compressing my lips while fighting to keep down my breakfast.

“Does it strike you as odd that two days into your OJT, Shaw found a way to whisk you away to a fancy-schmancy hotel for a night?” she mused. “In Dallas? Far away from prying conclave eyes?”