No Humans Involved (17 page)

Chivalry

"WHAT'S WRONG?" I whispered as Jeremy stopped.

"I can't see. Give me a moment."

We waited, the distant drip of water the only sound. It smelled different here—stale with an almost musky odor. Cold too. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to let my teeth chatter, which would only have Jeremy offering me his jacket.

"Hmmm," he said after a moment. "There must be a distant source of light. I can make out shapes, but barely, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better."

"No light at all means even you can't see, right?"

"I'm afraid so. My night vision needs something to work with. I'll move slowly. Here, give me the flashlight and your shoes, and put your hands—"

He guided them to his hips. I moved closer… just for safety, of course.

We started forward again, creeping along in the dark. We made it about fifty feet, and around the bend, when I heard a sound that made the hair on my neck rise. The chattering of tiny, needle-sharp teeth.

"Please tell me that's mice," I said. "Or underground squirrels."

"Okay."

I poked his back. "Liar."

"Don't worry. They're a ways off yet."

"Do you remember the psycho rats in Toronto? Did Elena ever tell you we were cornered by them?"

"No, she left off that part. Left off a lot of parts, I'm sure."

"Well, I had to kill some. The rats. Squashed their poor little skulls with a two-by-four and I know payback's coming. Bad karma for the rodent slayer. They can probably sense—" I stopped. "Jeremy?"

"Hmmm?"

"Something brushed my foot. Something furry."

"Don't worry. It was dead."

"Dead?"

"I smelled it, but thought it best not to mention it and hope you passed by."

"Preferably without stepping on it?"

"I'll warn you next time. It can be hard to pinpoint the exact spot, though. The best I can do is say, 'By the way, there's a rotting corpse around here somewhere.' "

"On second thought, ignorance is bliss. So where—?" I stopped as an overpowering stench filled my nose. "Oh, God, I think I smell a ripe one."

"No, that's just the nest."

"N-nest?"

"It's down a side corridor, I think. We'll be past it in a moment. They shouldn't give us any trouble."

"Right. The predator thing. Like the cat. They smell you and run."

"Hmmm."

Not a terribly reassuring response. Elena had told me before that werewolves confuse other animals, that mix of wolf and human and, when confused and faced with a larger potential predator, they run. We'd had problems with the rats in Toronto only because they'd been infected and acting irrationally.

The chattering grew louder as the smell got worse. Mud oozed between my toes. And if it wasn't mud, I didn't want to know about it. I stepped on something that crackled under my toes, hard and thin like twigs… or bones.

"Almost past," Jeremy whispered. "When we reach the entrance to the nest, I'm going to stop and swing you by. All right?"

"Thanks."

A hiss in the darkness. I froze, my hands falling from Jeremy's hips as he kept moving. A loud chatter sounded right at my feet. I resisted the urge to kick and danced backward instead, wildly looking around, seeing only blackness.

"Jaime?"

Another hiss. I stumbled back. My foot slid in the muck and—

Jeremy's hands caught me around the waist and swooped me up.

"Grab my neck and hold on."

As I slid my hands around his neck, my fingertips brushed through his hair, then down along the back of his neck. Just bad aim, of course. Couldn't expect me to see in the dark.

He took two steps, then stopped and cursed under his breath. More hissing. The scrabbling of tiny claws on concrete. The enraged shriek of a rat defending its nest, and I knew our path was blocked.

Jeremy made the low growling noise that had scared off the cat. A few rats' shrieks turned to panic, but more just kept chattering. Jeremy jerked back as he kicked a rat. I resisted the urge to bury my face in his chest like some nineteenth-century heroine.

"Hold on," he murmured. "This is going to take a stronger warning."

I tightened my grip. He twisted, as if leaning away from me, and let out a snarl that resounded through the tunnel. The rats squealed, claws scraping the concrete as they ran.

Jeremy took a few steps, getting us past the rats' nest, then lowered his lips to my ear. "My apologies. That wasn't very civilized."

I wasn't complaining. It'd worked on me too… though not in the same way. I readjusted my grip, pressing closer. His lips brushed my ear, sending a delicious chill down my neck.

"Sorry," he murmured, mouth still at my ear, breath hot on my neck. Then he straightened. "We should keep going."

I agreed wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, he meant walking. And just when I'd started thinking sex in a dank, rat-infested tunnel wouldn't be so bad after all. It would certainly be a first and, with me, that wasn't easy.

I rested in his arms, enjoying the heat of his body, the smell of him, blocking the stench of the tunnel. After a few minutes, though, that twenty-first-century independent woman started nagging at me and, with a silent sigh, I said, "We're far enough away. You can put me down."

"I could. But the tunnel is wide enough here for me to carry you and, from the smell, people use this end, so I suspect there's discarded needle or two on the ground. Not something you should step on in bare feet."

Couldn't argue with that. Another minute and we could see dim light. We soon reached the source—moonlight streaming through a partly boarded-up exit.

Jeremy put me down and I pulled on my shoes. Then we squeezed out through the door and found ourselves at the bottom of stairs leading from a parking lot to the basement door of some building.

We finally escaped the putrid, rat-infested tunnel only to step out into a cold drizzling ran. Never fails. I catch a break and I pay for it. The story of my life.

So we ran, shivering and wet, from under one overhang to the next. Jeremy gave me his coat, and I didn't argue. We finally reached the street and darted under a store awning.

"Not the safe fact-finding mission you had in mind, was it?" Jeremy said. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. It was fun."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Fun?"

"Well, fun is probably pushing it but, hey, this is the first adventure I've survived without being kidnapped, attacked, knocked unconscious or possessed by evil spirits. A ripped blouse? Ruined skirt? Bad hair? I'd call this progress."

He laughed. Then his eyes met mine, face turning serious. He moved closer, his hand going under my chin, warm fingers against my skin, tilting my face up, leaning down to me.

He wiped his thumb over my cheekbone, frowned and peered at it.

"You cut your cheek on something." He reached for the spot again, then pulled back. "I probably shouldn't touch it. My hands are filthy."

I met his gaze. "I don't mind."

He hung there, over me, one hand at my back, clutching my blouse, eyes darkening, body taut, as if fighting the urge to take me up on my invitation. If I made a move, his resolve would break. I

could see that in his eyes. Just reach up, put my arms around his neck, press my body against his and I'd see that fire again, feel that passion. No tortured cab ride back to his hotel. That would take too long. Make my move and I'd be carried back in the shadows of that alcove and—

I swallowed hard and stepped back. Probably the hardest thing I've ever done, but follow through on that impulse and there'd be regret come morning. Take it slow. Make sure it's where I want to go— where he wants to go.

As I fussed with my shoe strap, Jeremy peered out into the dark, wet street, squaring his shoulders against the chill. "We need to get you someplace warm and dry—"

A taxi turned the corner.

A quarter-smile. "Now there's the kind of magic I like."

He stepped out and waved it over, then turned to me. "I'm going back to the shop, to see whether I can pick up Botnick's trail. With any luck, he'll head somewhere interesting after his encounter."

"Are you sure? It might be—"

"Dangerous?" The corners of his mouth twitched. "Don't worry. I'll be careful."

The cab stopped. He opened the rear door halfway, then paused, looking back at me.

"You're welcome to come with me. I didn't mean—" He gestured at the cab. "I'm not trying to get rid of you. I just thought you'd probably had enough…"

"If you could use me, I'd go. But tracking is your field. I'd only get in the way."

I slid past him into the car.

He leaned in and swept a strand of wet hair back from my face. "You're never in the way, Jaime."

I turned my face toward his, lifting my chin…

"Call me when you get to the house," he said. "So I know you arrived safely."

For a second, watching him close the door, I almost suspected he'd been teasing me—here and in the tunnel. But no. Jeremy was nothing if not responsible. At a time like this, flirting would be the last thing on his mind.

Damn.

He jogged around to give the driver directions and a few bills. As the cab pulled away from the curb, I remembered his coat and rolled down my window.

"Your—" I called, but he had his back to me, hurrying to the shelter of the awnings. A second later, he vanished into the shadows, looping back to Botnick's shop.

I rolled up the window.

"Forgot his jacket," I said to the driver, who was watching me through the rearview mirror.

The young woman gave a slight roll of her eyes, as if to say
she'd
never accept a man's jacket in the first place. Too bad. I'd never been one to refuse an opened door or a pulled-out chair. As long as the man understood I could open my own doors, could pull out my own chairs, then I wasn't adverse to a little chivalry. With Jeremy, it wasn't so much that as old-fashioned good manners.

He may not have grown up with women in his life, but he'd had Elena around for over fifteen years now, and knew better than to underestimate "the fairer sex." Had it been Elena back at that shop, she would have gone down the chute first and taken on those rats herself, protecting
him
, watching
his
back. And he'd have let her. With me, it was a question of limitations and experience. While I wanted, someday, to have the nerve and the know-how to do such things myself, in the meantime, I wasn't going to protest about being carried past a nest of rats. Or taking his coat when I was cold.

I pulled the jacket around me, savoring the warmth for the rest of the cab ride.

Played

WHEN I ARRIVED IN BRENTWOOD, a guard met me at the door. Like being sixteen again, arriving home after curfew. I even got the "what have you been up to?" arched brow from him as he surveyed my ruined outfit.

As I passed Grady's bedroom, I heard my name and stopped.

"You aren't listening to me, woman!" Grady hissed, loud enough for his voice to reverberate down the hall. "I was
possessed
."

"Yes, yes, I know, but they really want us to stick to these ridiculous celebrity seances so, perhaps, for a while, if you could choose only to be possessed by people fitting their criteria—"

"You think I chose to have this happen? This—this power—this evil thing, it stole my body. I was powerless, unable to see, hear, speak, trapped in some limbo." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I need to speak to Jaime. While that thing had hold of me yesterday, I had some… sense of her. I think she might understand what happened."

The creak of a chair. "So that's what this is about? You don't need to pull this possession nonsense, Bradford. If you want to take the woman out for drinks and a quick shag in some tawdry hotel, be my guest. I've never stopped you before, have I?"

"I'm telling you I was possessed—"

"Oh, I know what you're possessed by. Get it out of your system so we can get back to business."

"This
is
business, woman. Something happened out there and I believe Jaime Vegas holds the key. I've told you she has the gift. Her performance with Tansy Lane—"

"—was a remarkable performance. Props to her for it, and for finding that memo, giving her the advantage of knowing in advance who she was about to contact that night."

"Becky never said Jaime found—"

"The poor girl is terrified of losing her job, so she doesn't dare do more than hint. If Todd Simon found out that she'd left that memo on Tansy Lane in the kitchen—"

"I don't believe it."

"No? Well, I've done my research, because that's what you pay me for, Bradford, and Todd Simon is a cutthroat—"

"I meant about Jaime. She didn't need to warn me about Amityville—Becky certainly wasn't going to. If Jaime Vegas is as conniving as Becky would have us believe, then why not let me fall on my face…"

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. One last glance at Grady's door before I hurried down to my own.

I'd been played by Becky. We'd
all
been played by her, but that was no excuse. I consider myself a good judge of character—showbiz character, at least. But I'd fallen for the nervous young director routine. Conned. But not for long.

I TURNED off the bedside light, laid down and called Jeremy. He answered on the second ring.

"Checking in as requested," I said. "Safe and snug in bed. How's the hunt going?"

"Badly. I followed his trail to his car. Then presumably he drove off."

"Which makes tracking impossible. Was he alone when he left?"

"Yes. He seems to have persuaded the others to go on without him. No sign of the police being called for the break-in."

"Can't take the chance of them finding the blood-flecked dungeon downstairs."

"No doubt. I'm parked behind his house, but he hasn't returned. While I hope he simply stopped to grab a late-night snack, I think he's done exactly what I feared he'd do."

"Run to his contact to try to get in touch with the group."

"Which would be perfect if I was still following him." A soft sigh. "I'll wait another hour or so, in case he returns."

"If he does, will you talk to him?"

"Only if it can be done safely. Otherwise, I'll regroup and try again tomorrow."

I laid my head on the pillow. "Thanks. For looking out for me tonight. I know you're used to having a partner who can take more of the risks."

"A// of the risks, you mean. If I'd been there with Clay or Elena— or anyone from the Pack—I'd have been the one sitting above the hatch and being escorted past the rats. I'm the Alpha, remember? I'm not allowed to have fun."

"Fun?"

"Fun might be pushing it," he said, echoing my words from earlier. "But it's nice to say, 'I'm going down the hatch first,' and not have four werewolves scrambling over themselves to do it for me, lest I stub my toe."

"Can't lead the Pack with a stubbed toe."

"Evidently. And while I have no objection to devising strategies, giving orders and letting them have their adventures, it can be a bit… much at times. You mentioned those diseased rats in Toronto?"

"Right."

"At least you were allowed to whack one. When we initially discovered the nest, I wanted to determine what disease they might have contracted. I was allowed a split-second glance at the nest, then they let me examine a nearby rat corpse, with Clay hovering over me, twitching as if he expected the thing to jump up and bit me in the nose."

"He can be a tad overprotective, can't he?"

"A tad. But it's his job and it's also his nature, so I can't argue. And, yet, I'll admit it's refreshing to turn the tables now and then."

"And protect instead of being protected?"

"You can take care of yourself. But…"

"I can just tell myself I'm humoring you."

A soft laugh. "Yes, you can."

We kept talking as he watched Botnick's house. At some point, I drifted off. "When my alarm rang, I was still clutching the phone to my ear, the call long since disconnected.

MY MORNING began with another call to Jeremy. There'd been no sign of Botnick all night. Jeremy had retreated to his hotel just before dawn. He'd swing by and survey Botnick's house and shop before coming to breakfast.

Since he'd been up all night, I certainly didn't expect him to put on his game face and make nice to strangers. But he was already on his way—or so he said, though I could have sworn I heard the shower running in the background.

As for Hope, she'd left a message on his hotel answering service, saying Bigfoot had kept her up until dawn.

After I hung up, I took last night's clothes from the garbage can and put them in a bag for private disposal later. If Todd Simon had cameras installed in the house, he wasn't above having the cleaning staff root through our trash. Next thing I knew, Hope would be given a new assignment—investigating Jaime Vegas's ripped, sewage-stained, rat-hair-strewn clothes. I'd hate to see the story
True News
would come up with to explain that one.

Then it was time to take care of Becky.

ON THE way to breakfast, I popped my head into the room the guards and staff were using as a base station. With apologies for intruding, I mentioned that I'd spotted a paparazzi lurking about the night before. It was a lie, but within minutes, I was perched on the edge of the desk, surrounded by the trio of guards as I regaled them with tales of life in the limelight.

"Last month I got a letter from this guy who said he'd written a story about me and posted it online," I said. "I thought that was so sweet. Look at me, inspiring fan fiction and I'm not even a fictional character. So I type in the link he sent and I start reading it, and it's really cute, all about him meeting me at a show, then being taken backstage…"

"Uh-huh," one guard chortled.

I nudged him with my foot, letting my black silk skirt ride up my thigh, their gazes riding up with it. "So you think you know what happens next? You don't know the half of it."

He grinned. "Gonna tell us?"

"Let's just say that being able to contact ghosts makes for some very interesting menages a trois… and menages a quatre, and me-nages a… whatever five is in French."

They laughed.

"I never knew I had a thing for geishas and Amazons, but there it was, in vivid detail, and even more vivid color illustrations."

"Spirit photography?" one of them said.

I smacked his arm, letting my fingernails graze his biceps. "Drawings, of course. Very imaginative drawings."

The youngest guard swung around the laptop on the desk, fingers poised over the keys, brows raised in a dare.

"You think I memorized the URL?" I said.

All three of them teased me until I sighed and said, "Try these keywords. Jaime—spelled J-A-M-I-E, his attention to detail not extending to my name. Vegas. Geisha. Amazon warrior. And, ahem, Nubian slave master."

A howl of laughter.

"Found it," the guard said. Then, after a moment. "Holy shit."

"Did I mention it was imaginative? I don't know where I got those missiles." I waved at the picture, then at my chest. "But apparently there's more to me than meets the eye. A
lot
more."

As they laughed, Angelique passed the door, heading for the dining room. I jumped off the desk.

"Angelique!"

She stopped, frowning as she saw where I was.

"I need to talk to you. Someplace—" I glanced at the guards, "—private. Sorry, guys. Maybe there's an empty room someplace—"

"Take this one," the head guard said. "We'll clear out."

"Are you sure?"

They were. As they left, I thanked them and agreed to come by later with more stories. They waved Angelique in and closed the door behind them.

"We're supposed to stick to the common rooms," she said

"Do you know why? I'll show you in a minute." I moved behind the desk and sat. "But first, I bet I know who fed you stories about me. It's either Becky or Will, but my money's on Will. He tried the same shit with me the second day—hinting that you were talking about me behind my back. I wouldn't bite, but if I had, I can guarantee you'd have seen my response on the show."

Confusion, then dawning horror.

I continued. "Whatever you said about me, Angelique, it's now on film. And when it airs, you won't see what led to your comments, just the end results. Just you spouting seemingly ungrounded insults and accusations."

Her face paled. I waved for her to sit down.

"Whatever you said about me, I don't care, but you won't see me saying a word against you because I haven't. I've been around long enough to know better. I also know better than to do anything that will make me seem
too
good, and risk pissing off my costars. For example, sneaking a peek at a file on potential subjects. Did Becky tell you I did that?"

"Will. But he said he wasn't supposed to tell—" Her pretty face hardened. "That was part of the setup, wasn't it? Let on he's sneaking me secrets, and I won't go after you about it. They played us against each other."

"Becky
did
get me to look at a memo," I said. "Accidentally. On Gabrielle Langdon. That's why I tried to pass you the tips. And that's why I wouldn't make contact myself. It wasn't fair."

She flushed. "Guess I haven't been very fair myself. But Todd Simon warned me I had to be on the defensive, especially against you. He said everyone's out for blood in this town, and I'd get eaten alive if I didn't come out swinging."

"Well, you can stop swinging now, because I'm not your enemy. As for why I told you all this in
here
, let me take you for a little stroll. Show you a few features of the house they didn't cover in the tour."

I SHOWED her the hidden cameras in the common areas. She managed to hold it together until we were back in the guard room, then collapsed into the chair.

"I can't believe… my dad said I wasn't ready for Hollywood, but I was so
sick
of the revival circuit. I thought this was going to be my big chance." A strained laugh. "My big chance to make a fool of myself on national television."

I took the chair opposite hers. "Maybe not."

After talking to Angelique, I tracked down Becky and apologized for my poor performance the day before. I promised to do better that afternoon.

"I just… I guess I get nervous about contacting famous people who died fairly recently. With a case like Gabrielle Langdon, it was all over the news and so many people know the details. If I get them right, I'll look like I'm just remembering the case. If I screw up, everyone will know it."

She nodded. "I can see that. But you won't need to worry about that this afternoon. This guy hasn't been in the news for…" She calculated. "About thirty years."

"Thank God."

She checked her PalmPilot, then said casually, gaze still down. "You live in Chicago, don't you?"

"I do."

"Then you'll have an edge, because what he was famous for is a lot better known in Chicago than Hollywood, though he himself lived here. And there's no murder involved. Not
his
murder, that is, though he certainly sent a lot of people to their graves." A slow shake of her head. "Live that kind of life and die in your sleep. Proof that life isn't fair."

She studied my face, trying to see whether I needed any more hints. I didn't. I thanked her for her time, then went in search of Claudia and Grady.

JEREMEY HAD dined alone. That seemed wisest—letting Becky believe that her stars had passed the stage of feigning civility and now were avoiding one another even for meals.

The next seance segment would be later that morning, so I had to stick around. I tried persuading Jeremy to go—to hook up with

Hope, maybe pay a visit to Botnick at his shop—but he insisted there was no rush. We'd leave together after I was free.

In the meantime, I wanted to go into the garden, to try contacting the ghosts again.

"I know I'm not going to have some sudden breakthrough, but…" I let the sentence trail off.

"At the very least, you're letting them know you're still here. That's hardly a waste of time, if they're comforted."

Before we went outside, I collected my necromancy kit, then picked up a package I'd ordered from town. A little gift for Jeremy. Not much of a gift, I thought, as I looked into the bag. Unoriginal. Probably unwanted, under the circumstances. I wished I'd chosen something better. I wished I knew what better would be.

I took it out to the patio and thrust it at Jeremy with a mumbled "just a little something."

He opened the bag and smiled. Reaching in, he pulled out a sketch pad and pencils.

"Okay," I said. "Probably the last thing you need on this trip. But I thought, well, maybe if we had some downtime like this, you could use a distraction from the research."