Tiger Eye (27 page)

Kit whistled. “Holy Toledo. What is this, Dela? Studs-R-Us?”

Dela stood and hugged her friend. “Careful. Rose already stroked their egos.”

“I bet that’s not all she stroked.”

Again, Dela went through introductions, and Kit was thoroughly charmed. She even went so far as to ruffle Blue’s hair, which made him grin. To Hari, though, she gave a speculative once-over that was pure Kit.

“So you’re Dela’s new man, huh?”

“I am,” he said gravely.

Kit leaned close. “You look tough, but break her heart and I’ll turn you into a permanent bed wetter.”

“I’m in love,” Blue said.

Hari kept his solemn eyes trained on Kit’s face. “I agree to your terms.”

Kit stared, but whatever she saw in Hari’s gaze seemed to satisfy her. She backed away and winked at Dela.

“I’ll see you guys after the show,” she promised. “I’ve got to go set up.”

Blue watched her walk away. “She
is
single, right?”

Dean puckered his lips and made kissing sounds. Good-natured bickering followed, along with hot buffalo wings, cheesy nachos, and some very excellent beer. Dela contentedly munched on her chips, Hari’s arm draped over her shoulders, and listened to the sounds of their voices mingling. It was a wonderful feeling to be surrounded by so many friends.

Dela could almost forget her other problems. Almost.

She felt the knives strapped to her thighs, heard them singing against her skin. Dela was an excellent marksman—uncanny, Roland had once said, back before he took over the agency and had time to train her in self-defense. After her escapade with the bullet, Dela was beginning to wonder how much of her skill was dependent on some unconscious use of telekinetic ability with steel.

Kit began her set promptly at eight, striding out on stage with her head high, a challenging glint in her eyes. She was dazzling to look at, energy pouring from her lithe body. Kit did not introduce herself. She simply grinned at the audience, lifted her fiddle, and began to play.

No one accompanied her, but additional musicians would have been superfluous. Kit’s fiddling had its own body, mind, filling the room with a wild breathless heat, invading muscles, sparking colors in eyes already enchanted by her writhing body, coiled around her instrument. Fibers snapped in her bow.

Dela watched, unable to stop smiling, feeling a great upswell of pride for her genius friend. Cries and shouts of approval began to emerge from the crowd, and by the end of Kit’s first song, Dela could barely hear the music through the applause. The men of Dirk & Steele whistled and cheered, and Hari put his hands together in naked appreciation.

Kit laughed. “Thanks, folks. This next song is a special request from Dame Rose, and it’s dedicated to her ‘Prisoners of Lust,’ Artur and Dean.”

The two men groaned as the audience roared. Eddie held up his glass in silent salute, the entire table laughing over their drinks. Hari’s smile was free and relaxed, his chest rumbling with amusement. He pulled Dela close against his shoulder.

And froze.

Hari’s sudden stillness was preternatural, his muscles coiled, tense. Dela felt some primal instinct rise within her, skin prickling as she looked up into the face of a predator. Hari turned, and his slow movement attracted the attention of the others at the table, who felt the change in him, the inherent threat within his aura.

Hari stared at the entrance of the club. At first Dela didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary; men and women, single and in pairs, mingling near the door, the bar.

Then she sensed something odd and stared harder, found someone watching them. Long wild hair framed a lean masculine face, dark with stubble. A whip-thin body, bare forearms riddled by tattoos. The man leaned against the doorway with casual grace, cigarette in hand, and when he finally walked toward them, Dela imagined she heard the heels of his cowboy boots striking the floor.

Hari stood as the man approached, unfolding from his chair with lethal grace. He towered a good foot over the stranger, who did not seem in the least bit impressed. Dela stared hard at his face, sensing something familiar, and almost gasped. His eyes were golden.

She remembered China, Hari’s similar reaction.

I thought I sensed another like me. A shape-shifter.

“Hello,” said the man, his gaze firmly on Hari. It was as though the rest of them did not exist. Hari said nothing. He slowly extended his hand.

Some smile quirked the man’s lips, but when he clasped Hari’s much larger hand, something odd rippled through his face, which lost its cocky charm. His reaction lasted only a moment. Hari released him, and the man stepped away, his mask slipping back into place. Yet, when he raised his cigarette, Dela thought his hand trembled.

“Would you like to sit?” Hari indicated the free chair beside him.

It seemed to Dela that the man suddenly realized all the people at the table were staring at him. She could not imagine anyone—especially this lean, sharp individual—being so completely oblivious, but there was a puzzled look on his face that made her think he had been lost in some private moment, where the only two people who mattered were Hari and himself.

He looked like he would bolt; there was something wild in his eyes, as though sitting at the table might be the same as entering
a cage. He rolled the cigarette around his fingers, considering, and they all waited, curious but uncaring. If he sat, fine—if he did not, Hari would explain the mystery. Perhaps he sensed their indifference; he perched on the edge of his chair. Hari turned toward the others.

“He is like me,” Hari said, as though that explained everything. The stranger swore, and began to stand.

“Whoa there,” Dean said. “You stay right where you are. What kind of explanation is that, Hari? You know this guy?”

“I assure you,” said the man, still poised to leave, his voice smooth as old whiskey. “We are complete strangers.”

“You do not act like strangers,” Artur said.

“Hari,” Dela whispered. “Is he a shape-shifter?”

The man heard her, and looked sharply at Hari. “She knows?”

“They all know,” Hari said. “And they can all be trusted. I would not be here with them otherwise.” And then, almost eagerly: “What do you call yourself? What do you run as?”

The man hesitated, clearly unnerved by Hari’s blunt questions in the presence of so many strangers. And yet, he did not leave. He slowly, carefully, sat down, eyeing them, measuring.

“My name is Koni,” he said, watching their reactions. “I fly as raven. And you?”

“I am Hari. I run as tiger.”

“Tiger.” Koni seemed taken aback, and for a moment, appeared once again to forget his observers. “Tigers are legend. You must be the last of your kind.”

“And you?” Dela asked sharply, sensing Koni’s words somehow hurt Hari. “How many of your kind?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Too few.”

Behind him, Kit still played her heart out, music dazzling the air. For an instant, though, she caught Dela’s eye, and the message was clear: Questions would be asked, and by God, questions would be answered. No one ignored Kit when she played,
especially when the song was dedicated to the two men with their backs turned to her. Kit missed nothing when she was on stage. Absolutely nothing.

“Ooookay,” said Dean, laying his hands flat on the table. “It’s obvious I’m once again caught in the middle of the Twilight Zone. But let me get this straight, because hearing it from Hari is one thing—from you, entirely different.” He took a deep breath. “You can shift your shape from human to animal, and when you don’t look like a man, it’s because you’re going all Tweety on someone’s ass.”

“I’m not sure I appreciate the imagery associated with that statement, but yes, that’s about it.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Eddie patted his back.

“Look,” said Koni. “It’s great that you all are okay with what I am, but this isn’t comfortable for me, so if you don’t mind, I’m out of here. Hari, pleasure to meet you. Hope you don’t go extinct.”

“Wait.” Blue waved a waitress over. “Have a drink. I’m curious to know why you approached us in the first place. This is a very public setting, and Hari is at a table full of humans. You must have known how strange it would seem, a complete stranger hopping over, shaking hands with our man and then running off. Why didn’t you just stay away, curb your curiosity?”

Koni stared at him. It was a good question, a fair question, and even the shape-shifter seemed to realize it. “Whiskey,” he said, glancing up as the waitress finally arrived. “Bring the bottle.”

“Bring two,” said Dean.

Koni glanced at Hari. “Are you sure they can be trusted?”

“Hey,” Eddie protested.

“Absolutely,” Hari assured him. “They are like clan.”

Koni grunted. “They’re not
my
clan, but I’ll take your word for it, one shifter to another.” He looked each of them in the eye, a stare that was dispassionate and cold. A
don’t screw me you motherfuckers
look. “As I said, there aren’t many of us. Hari is the first shifter outside my family I’ve seen in over three years, and I get around.”

“Rarity doesn’t explain obsession,” Blue pointed out.

Koni grimaced. “I am—was—not obsessed. What you don’t and can’t understand is that when our kind catches each other’s scents, we get tunnel vision, start running on instinct. It’s worse, now there are so few of us. We have to find the other shifter, look ‘em in the eye. Comes out of the old days, when territory was more important, when the animal was free to emerge.”

He glanced at Hari, his eyes troubled. “You have issues, man. Your beast—”

“Is not the topic of this conversation,” Hari warned. “I already know the problem.”

“If you say so.” Koni inclined his head. The waitress brought the whiskey and glasses. When she was gone, and Kit’s music could once again cover their voices, he leaned forward. “Now I have a question. Who are all of you, and why the calm acceptance? And don’t tell me it’s just Hari. You people smell strange.”

Five sets of eyes stared at him, and then Hari.

“Do I smell different from other people?” Dela asked. Hari hesitated.

“It is not so much your scent, but the energy I feel inside you. I can sense your power rubbing against my skin. I would have mentioned it earlier, but could not think of the right words.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s never easy telling a girl about all the ways she ‘rubs’ you.”

Koni snorted. “I’m still waiting.”

“You’re a real barrel of laughs, you know?”

Artur poured himself a drink. “We are like you, Koni, in that we are blessed with certain … gifts. Telepathy, clairvoyance … take your pick.”

“Spoon bending?”

“That would be me,” Dela quipped, raising her hand.

Someone’s cell phone rang. Artur answered quickly, rising from the table. He wandered away from the stage, toward the bar. Uncomfortable silence descended, with everyone trying desperately to listen to Kit, and not hearing a note.

Artur returned less than five minutes later, his jaw clenched, eyes dark with profound determination and something … else. Something painful.

“We have a hit,” he said, voice pitched so only their table would hear. “We have to go now if we want to intercept our target.”

The child’s murderer.

“That was fast,” Eddie commented, puzzled, as he rose from his seat.

“I had quite a few details to pass on to Roland and Yancy’s contacts,” Artur said. “More than I really wanted to discuss, considering the nature of the crime.”

“What’s going on?” Koni asked, bewildered, as everyone stood.

“It’s work-related,” Blue said, handing him a business card. “If you ever want a job where you don’t have to hide, call this number. Ask for Roland.”

“Shit. You’re not the mob, are you?”

Dean grinned. “My man, we are the good guys. Just put that name in the Internet and do some research. You’ll find out all you need to know, except”—and here he leaned close, his eyes suddenly dangerous—”that we got secrets like you. Tell anyone what you heard at this table, and you’re fair game. And I ain’t no little Red Riding Hood.”

“Yes, good woodsman with the ax. I get the hint. Although for future reference, your threat would work better if I were a wolf.”

Dela waved at Kit, mouthing “call me” when the musician turned in her direction. Kit rolled her eyes, but Dela knew she wasn’t angry. They liked each other too much to ever walk out
on any personal event without a good reason. And Dela had a good reason—just not one she would ever be able to share with Kit.

“Good-bye, Koni.” Hari smiled. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

“Sure,” he said, with a marked lack of sincerity.

They met Rose on the way out, and everyone thanked her for a wonderful time, rattling off some excuse about a family emergency. She abandoned the young man she was escorting into the club and grabbed Artur’s hand, which she pressed to her breast.

“Come again, my darling Artuuur.”

“Rose,” he said, managing to smile. “Sweet Rose.”

“How come she didn’t ask
me
back?” Dean grumbled, as they jogged down the street to the parked Land Cruiser. Everyone stared at him, and he raised his eyebrows. “What? I’ve got an ego, too.”

“You said we can intercept this guy,” Blue reminded Artur. “But I thought the murder took place in New York. What’s he doing here, on the other side of the country?”

“Seems like too much of a coincidence,” Dela said. “Me here, the murderer who used my knife in the same town.” They piled into the car, Hari sitting up front for the extra leg room. Dela perched on the seat behind him, holding on to his shoulders and leaning forward to get a better look at Artur. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this guy is out to get me, too.”

She was the only who laughed. The men glanced at each other.

“No,” she said.
“No.
I am not the Anti-Christ. Not that many people could possibly want me dead.”

“It makes sense,” Hari said. “The weapon was not chosen at random. Someone knew you were making a blade, knew when you would send it, and intercepted the shipment.”

“The killer was setting you up, Dela.” Dean frowned, staring out the window. “But why you, specifically?”