The Frenzy War (20 page)

“Well, I'm glad you're my trainer.”

Willy drew in his breath. “I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“I promise not to take any big risks.”

“I care about you too much. I cared about Patty too but in a different way.”

“Different how?”

“We were partners …”

“We're partners.”

He felt himself groping for words. “Yeah, I know. I just see you another way is all.”

The headlights of passing cars illuminated her brown eyes. A moment hung between them. Then Karol leaned forward, her lips stopping short of his.

“This better not be a play …”

“It isn't.”

Before she could change her mind, he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

When Mace entered the second-floor apartment of his house, he found Cheryl sitting on the sofa, her ankles crossed on the coffee table with her laptop resting on her thighs, Sniper lying on the floor below. She had changed into black capris and a loose-fitting shirt, and she pecked at her keyboard while Manhattan Minute News played on TV with the volume low. An empty wineglass and a half-full bottle of Merlot stood on the glass table. She looked up at him, the TV images reflected in her glasses. Sitting beside her, Mace massaged her feet, and she laid her head back with a tired moan.

“How's Patty?” Mace said.

“Sound asleep … finally. How was your day?”

“I'm not in the doghouse anymore.”

She raised her head. “So I gathered. What can you tell me?”

“Nothing. My assignment is a secret.”

“There are no secrets between husbands and their wives if they want to stay husbands and wives.”

“What happened to that professional understanding we had?”

“That was when you were in the doghouse and your secrets couldn't interest me.”

Sitting back, Mace pulled her legs across his and nodded at the laptop. “What are you doing?”

“Reviewing old stories on the Manhattan Werewolf.” Her gaze held his.

“You could always just read Carl Rice's book on the
subject,” Mace said.

Reaching beside her, Cheryl raised a copy of
The Wolf Is Loose: The True Story of the Manhattan Werewolf.

“You didn't,” Mace said.

“Technically, Manhattan Minute News did.”

“It's still money in Rice's pocket.”

“He thinks the Manhattan Werewolf is still out there.”

“He is, isn't he? Unless he turned into a pumpkin.”

“Where will you be based?”

“At an undisclosed location.”

“What's your rank?”

“I'm still a captain.”

“How many people will be calling you that?” Mace smiled. “Landry? Diega?” He held his smile.

“What will happen if I ask Public Information what you're doing?”

“They'll tell you I'm doing deep background research on some unclosed homicide cases.”

“Which could mean anything. How convenient.”

Mace spread his hands apart in a gesture of exaggerated helplessness.

Cheryl aimed a finger in his direction. “I'm coming after you.”

“I hear you're pretty tough.”

Her voice turned serious. “How is this a good idea? What do you stand to gain if no one knows what you're up to?”

“If I produce results, then I'll wind up somewhere better
than I was.”

“I thought you were looking forward to retiring.” He rubbed Sniper's head with one foot. “I am. I'd just like to go out with a little respect.”

“What happens if they fuck you over?”

“Then it will be business as usual.”

Willy stood in Karol's living room, surveying framed photos of Karol and her family. He didn't wish to be nosey but found it difficult to shut down his detective's habits.

The bathroom door opened, and Karol stood half silhouetted within the dingy light. As she stepped closer, he saw that she wore a satin nighty that clung to the curves of her small frame. Heat rose from his body, his gaze drawn to the light reflected in her dark eyes. She clicked off the lamp providing most of the illumination, then turned her back to him and entered the bedroom. Studying the slope of her slender neck and her firm ass, he followed her into the darkness.

Striking a match, Karol lit a medium-sized candle, its flickering flame highlighting her defined cheekbones in soft golden light. Willy gazed at her reflection in the mirror of her bureau, and when Karol looked at his reflection in return, she caressed her neck with one hand.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she said.

He nodded. “Oh, I'm very sure.”

“You'd better keep this between us.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I mean it. I won't be known as a department slut. I've
worked too hard to gain respect.”

“You're my partner. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you.”

“This will change our partnership.”

He knew she was right. “Now that my promotion's come through, we won't be partners for long.”

She circled her bed, her eyes never leaving his. Then, with slow movements, she crawled across the blankets like a jungle cat and lay on her back.

Willy stepped out of his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, then slid out of his slacks. He stood before Karol in a muscle shirt and boxer shorts.

She giggled. “Take those off, please.”

Breaking into a grin, Willy shed his undergarments and made a show of flexing his muscles.

Spreading her legs, Karol scraped the insides of her thighs with the tips of her fingernails.

Willy felt his smile fading, his desire for Karol overtaking him. With his erection stabbing the cold air, he climbed onto the bed and crossed it on his knees. Lying over Karol, he kissed her and tasted her tongue. She raised her knees, squeezing her legs against his hips and rocking against him. He felt her hands sliding over his back, her fingertips pressing against his flesh. He ran his own fingers over her head, his kisses matching hers in their hunger.

Karol nipped at his lower lip, and he pulled the straps of her nighty over her shoulders and forced it down to her waist, freeing her dark breasts. Karol hiked the nighty over her hips, allowing him access to the wetness between her legs. Groping for his hard organ, he pressed it against her slick spot and felt resistance. Pulling his mouth away
from hers, he looked into her eyes with rising surprise. Her lips parted, revealing her white teeth.

Then Karol wrapped her arms around him, almost pinning his arms, and thrust herself against him, biting his shoulder as she took him inside her.

Rhonda regained consciousness with the pain of her teeth digging into the inside of her mouth. Opening her eyes, she focused on stone.

I'm lying facedown,
she thought, turning her head so that her teeth released their hold on her torn, bleeding mouth. She bowed her head, taking the pressure off her nose and putting it on her forehead. A whimper escaped her lips as images cascaded through her brain: Jason's head rolling across the floor of Synful Reading … peering at the leader of the Torquemadans, the bald-headed black man named Henri, and the woman with the blonde-streaked black hair … the men slashing her flesh with their scalpels …

Spreading her legs apart, she heard chain links clinking. They had moved her back to her cell. Saliva pooled on her tongue, and her scalp tingled.

What form am I in?

Throwing her left hand beside her shoulder, she turned her head to the right to gaze at her other hand and saw only straw on the floor. Swallowing, she brought her arm perpendicular with her other shoulder and glimpsed something white and gauzy with a red flower at its center. Tears blurred her vision even as she focused on the blood-soaked bandage
wrapped around the stump of her human arm. The memory of Henri swinging the sword at her came roaring back.

They took my arm!

Rhonda trembled, and her tortured gasps produced bubbles of snot in her nostrils. She did not wish to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they had hurt her, but each convulsive heave of her muscles produced a shuddering weep, until at last she threw back her head and unleashed a wail. “Bastards …”

She heard the familiar sound of the bolt sliding into place on the other side of the steel door, followed by the sound of the door swinging open, then footsteps. Closing her legs together, she looked over her shoulder at her tormentors. The woman gripped a tranq gun, but the leader, a bloody bandage covering his nose, was unarmed, his expression flat. Henri was nowhere to be seen. Curling her lips into a snarl, Rhonda tasted her own blood.

“The bitch is angry,” the leader said. “Like a wounded animal.”

Rhonda directed her glare at the woman, who said nothing. “Don't talk about me like I'm not here.”

“Do you think you're in a position to give orders?” the leader said. “Henri may not be here, but I can hack off your other arm just as well as he could.”

Rhonda sucked on the cuts inside her mouth to keep from answering.

The leader gestured at her. “We bandaged your stump. Healing powers or no, you were bleeding profusely, and I didn't want to take a chance on losing you.”

I wouldn't have died,
Rhonda thought. “What time is it?”

“You don't need to know that. Remove the bandage.”

Studying each of their faces, she had no doubt they would continue to maim her if she resisted their instructions.

Give an inch, and they'll take a foot,
she told herself.

The monsters waited.

I have to save my strength. Appear to be broken. I can't avenge Jason if I'm dead.

Using her elbow for balance, Rhonda sat up and swung her legs beneath her, protecting her private parts from their eyes. Raising the stump of her arm, she had no choice but to gaze at their brutal handiwork. With her remaining hand, she peeled back the adhesive tape that held the bandage to her and unwound it to the end, then discarded the bloody bandage and stared at the purplish flesh which tapered to a red seal. She closed her eyes, shutting out the image.

“Unbelievable,” the woman said.

“If only my wound could do the same,” the leader said. “Will your hand grow back?”

“You'll just have to wait and see,” Rhonda said. “If you live that long.”

“Aren't you supposed to promise to let me go if I tell you what you want to know?”

The woman looked at her leader, waiting for his answer.

“Human beings don't make promises to animals. I'm sure you have no expectation that we'll allow you to survive this ordeal. The best you can hope for is that we'll show you mercy when we put you down like a dog.”

She refused to let her voice crack. “It's too late for that.”

“You could provide us with the names we want, and as soon as we verify the identities of the creatures you point us toward, we'd put you out of your misery. Or you can persist as you have, and we'll make your remaining life hell. You'll pray that whatever manner of god you believe in ends your suffering.”