Dead in the Water (Gemini: A Black Dog Series Book 1) Page 6

  “Can you hurry this up?” Harlow asked with a yelp as a spine pierced her palm.

  “Looks like you could use some help,” an earthy voice rumbled.

  A man leaned against the far wall with a toothpick stuck to his bottom lip. I hadn’t noticed him at first, what with the rodent infestation, but I sure saw him now. Cord Graeson had followed me—us—to Texas. I would have recognized the scowl even if I hadn’t noticed the black ink forest sprouting from his wrists to spread up his forearms.

  “We appreciate the offer,” Thierry drawled, “but looks can be deceiving.”

  His casual lean, his serene expression, set me on edge. He had been more honest gripped by his anger and grief. This cool-headed Graeson seemed dangerous, like he was a spring wound too tight, ready to burst into motion at the least provocation.

  “How long have you been standing there?” A purse of his lips confessed nothing, and I stepped around Thierry, approaching him with caution. “Were you going to let them roll away with her?”

  Eyes the color of walnuts striated by the green of summer grasses shifted onto Harlow. “No.” The reluctance in the word didn’t convince me.

  A buzzing noise spooked the hedgies, who curled into balls with a hiccup of sound. Thierry leapt into action, pulling a black stick—a marker?—from her pocket and drawing a circle around the stunned hedgies. “Harlow.” Thierry clasped forearms with her when she glanced up, and then hauled her to her feet. “Get out of the circle. Don’t smudge the line.” Harlow stepped over the black line and backed to my side. Thierry spoke a Word, and an invisible barrier rose, penning the hedgies. She pocketed the marker and dusted her hands. “Easy-peasy. I’ll call a cleanup crew.”

  Harlow pulled a slim phone from the rear pocket of her shorts. Her cell’s vibrations must have been what startled the hedgies. Her mouth pinched at the corners when the screen illuminated. “I have to return this call.” She crossed the lobby, pushed a button and started pacing. “Magistrate Vause.” Her knees locked and complexion paled. “Y-yes, ma’am.” Her head swung toward me. “Camille is right here.” She extended the phone, careful not to let our fingers brush. “It’s for you.”

  I held the phone to my right ear and then covered my left to better hear over the protesting hedgies. “Ellis speaking.”

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  Short and to the point is our Seelie Magistrate.

  “I went out for coffee.” I braced against the snap in her voice. “I forgot my phone.”

  “I’ve heard of twenty-four-hour coffee shops,” she mused in a frosty tone. “Here I thought it referenced their hours, not the number of hours customers are lost once crossing their threshold.”

  The explanation she hinted at wanting but wouldn’t ask for outright caused the conversation to peter out into an awkward quiet. Her silent demand for an explanation had me digging in my heels. The conclave didn’t own me. I was an employee who performed services for pay, not an indentured servant who had to snap to attention and report on command.

  “We have a survivor,” Vause announced in a cool, clear voice.

  “Are you certain she escaped Charybdis?” I pressed the speaker tighter against my ear. “The victim in Wink was just a boy in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn’t one of ours.”

  “The certainty is yours to determine. I wouldn’t dream of doing your job for you.” A prim response. “You will have to visit the girl and get the answers we both require.”

  Residual imprints faded fast on a living person. As they recovered, the resurgence of their own magic wiped away any foreign signatures. “How reliable is she?”

  “The girl is ten. Elizabeth McKenna.” Leather creaked on her end. “I want you to talk to her.”

  “Sure.” My heart pounded faster. “Where?”

  “The incident occurred in Falco, Alabama. We’ll need a diver. Bring Harlow with you.” Metal groaned as though she were reclining in a desk chair. “And, Camille? When I say I want you to speak with her, I mean I want Lori.”

  Lori.

  Harlow’s phone slid through my limp fingers. Only her quick reflexes kept it from clattering on the tiles. She ended the call with Vause. I didn’t have the stomach left for pleasantries.

  Graeson straightened, arms hanging loose as if ready to catch me should my knees buckle. “What’s happened?”

  Head light as a balloon ready to float off my shoulders, I shut my eyes and let the pain wash over me. Nothing could dam the swell of hurt, and I wasn’t fool enough to try. Better to weather the surge now than fight to keep my head above water later.

  “Cam?”

  “Pack a bag.” I opened my eyes, held Harlow’s wary gaze. “We leave in a half hour.”

  A sharp nod, a hardening of her jaw, and she dashed toward the elevators.

  I should have called out, asked her to hold the door for me so I could join her, but instead I nodded to Thierry—deep in conversation about the logistics of humane igel removal—and exited the building. Beneath a heavy moon, I stood as a speck on the sidewalk of no significance to the celestial bodies twinkling above me and found my center. The glitter of stars was proof the dark blanket of my grief did not encompass the world, and I could not allow it to envelope me.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  The unwelcome interruption growled over my shoulder splintered the moment of clarity almost within my reach. “I should pack my things.”

  “Are you ignoring me because I’m a warg?” A hint of bitterness. “Would you speak to me as an equal if I were fae?”

  “My issue is not your species,” I said, voice weary. “You’re too close to the case to act rationally.”

  “Do you have any siblings?” He wielded the question like a blade. “All I had was Marie.” The sentiment cut deep. “Survive a loss of that magnitude and then we can talk about acting rationally.”

  Too late to conceal my flinch, I smoothed the gesture into a shrug. “This isn’t about me.”

  Head cocked to one side, nostrils widening, Graeson cataloged a piece of me I hadn’t meant to share with him. Old hurts roiled in me. I must stink of emotion to such a sensitive nose as his.

  “You might as well tell me why the magistrate called,” he coaxed, his voice a dark promise. “I had the resources to locate you once. I can again.” Gold eclipsed his irises. “Marie was my sister. She died on Chandler pack land. As her brother, as beta, I have a right to this hunt.”

  My tongue pressed against the back of my front teeth. As much as I might wish otherwise, he had as much right to hunt Charybdis as I did, maybe more. His earlier stab in the dark had drawn heart’s blood. Had Marie been my sister, I would be in his place. No question. It was instinct to punish those who harmed what we loved. For Graeson, that meant Charybdis. In my case, the only person to blame was me.

  “There’s a girl.” My throat scraped raw. “A witness.”

  “Where?” His hand dipped into his pocket, emerging with a ring of keys looped around his forefinger.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and made a decision. “How did you get here?”

  “I drove that gray SUV by the portico.” He showed me the fob with a familiar rental agency logo affixed to its surface. “Why?”

  “Great.” I hustled past, the time for dawdling over. “Then you have plenty of room for Harlow.”

  Putting the two of them in the same car meant I could keep an eye on both. It was a win/win that promised Graeson only the access I decided to allow him and Harlow protection should the igel mount another effort against her.

  His fist clenched. “What about your car?”

  “All they had available was a subcompact.” It was cute as a button, but tight even for a quick trip to the airport once you factored in two women and two sets of luggage. “You can drive Harlow, and I’ll meet you both at the airport. We can travel the rest of the way together.”

  A thoughtful pause while Graeson no doubt weighed the compromise I offered agains
t the effort it would require to uncover the same information from one of his resources. “All right. You have a deal.”

  “Great.” I hesitated, glanced back at him. “Are you waiting down here?”

  “Unless you’re inviting me up.” He tossed his keys, caught them.

  “I won’t be long.” I resumed walking. “Wait here, save yourself the trip.”

  “Make it quick.” A glint in his eye. “Or I might make you the same offer.”

  The subtle warning nudged me up to my room where I collected my belongings and packed with less care than usual. I was wrapping my laptop cord when Harlow breezed in ten minutes later with her bags in hand. While performing one last sweep of the bed and floor, I explained our travel arrangements.

  Ushering her into the hall ahead of me, I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob.

  “Ready?” she prompted.

  To resurrect my dead twin sister for the purpose of conducting an interview? “Yeah. Sure.”

  Not at all.

  Chapter 7

  Between the late flight and the car ride, and Graeson appointing himself our driver, I managed three hours of sleep before we arrived at a two-star hotel in Andalusia, Alabama. Harlow, Graeson and I checked in then went our separate ways. I headed to my room for a shower and a change of clothes. At this point, I wanted the food I still hadn’t eaten more than I wanted a power nap before facing Vause.

  Dressed in a black pantsuit with a white ruffled shirt, I twisted my hair into a tight bun at the back of my head then left the room and rode the elevator down to the lobby. I stepped off and bumped right into Graeson, who stood with his feet braced apart and arms crossed over his chest, waiting. His hands shot out to steady me, and even after I stopped wobbling, he was slow to release me.

  The damp hair slicking to his scalp reminded me of the first time we met and the circumstances that had brought us together. I stepped out of his reach and headed across the lobby where leftovers from the free continental breakfast were being picked over.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice slid over my shoulder, his breath warm at my ear.

  “I’m starving.” I pressed a fist to my gut. “I’m heading where the food is.”

  He hooked my arm and spun me around. Once my head stopped whirling, I realized he was marching me out the front entryway.

  “What are you—?” I struggled to get free. “The food is that way.”

  “No.” His rough palm cupped my jaw and turned my head. “The real food is that way.”

  The familiar red Shoney’s sign glowed from across the street, and my stomach gurgled. All-you-can-eat eggs, bacon, pancakes and home-style fried potatoes. That sounded so much better than bottomless orange juice and kiddie cereal.

  “Wait.” I glanced behind us. “Where’s Harlow?”

  “Already gone. Got picked up five minutes ago.” He tugged on my arm to get me moving. “She’s got orders to search the lake for evidence of occupation.”

  The odds Charybdis had stayed put after a failed abduction were slim. He hadn’t managed to elude authorities this long by taking chances.

  “We should probably get moving too,” I said weakly. We stood at the entrance to the restaurant, and Graeson pushed open the door, allowing the scents of fried meats and waffles cooking to breeze past us. My mouth filled with water, and I glanced back at him. “You don’t play fair.”

  He placed his hand at the small of my back and pressed. “Fair doesn’t taste like bacon.”

  I couldn’t argue with that logic.

  A waitress greeted us, saw the bacon lust in our eyes and showed us to a table. While she fixed our drinks, we hit the buffet. I grabbed a little of everything and a lot of the fried potatoes. Those tiny cubes were my favorite thing. Beside me, Graeson piled mountains of ham, sausage patties and links, and crisp bacon strips on his plate. He caught me goggling at the sheer volume of meat and added a scoop of potatoes to his plate.

  Shaking my head, I took my breakfast and found our table. Graeson sat at the same time, waiting until I had taken the first bite before tucking into his meal. I didn’t stand on formalities. I was shoveling potatoes and eggs into my mouth almost as fast as he was inhaling sausage links. After I had cleaned my plate, I sat back, eyeing his stack of country ham with a fork in hand, all the while wondering how quick his reflexes were.

  “Don’t even think about it.” He scooted his meal closer to his side of the table. “There’s a whole buffet out there.”

  “I don’t think I can move,” I admitted. Eating so much so fast had made me lethargic.

  He rose with liquid grace. “Sit tight.”

  Sitting wasn’t a problem. It was the getting up while carrying a sack of Idaho’s best in my stomach that would be the issue. I shut my eyes and basked in the sensation of fullness. I jumped when an arm brushed my shoulder. I jerked upright, but it was only Graeson. He had leaned over me to place my plate on the table, which set off fluttering in a stomach already feeling twitchy. Having a predator at my back wasn’t helping my digestion.

  “Here.” He lingered in my personal space before withdrawing. “That should tide you over until dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Fork in hand, the better to stab him at the least provocation, I examined what he had chosen for me. “What about lunch?”

  “Lunch is the least dependable meal of the day.” He reclaimed his seat and lifted his fork, again waiting for me to take a bite before he began eating. “It’s smarter to fuel up now in case we don’t get another chance.”

  The mountain of potatoes loomed, and though I shouldn’t have kept scooping them in, I did. I only stopped after noticing Graeson’s attention on my lips as I chewed. I fumbled the fork and grabbed a napkin. “What?” I wiped my mouth. “Did I get grease on my face?”

  Voice gone coarse, he ground out a single word. “No.”

  There wasn’t enough liquid left in my glass to wet my throat when he looked at me with that potent mix of grief and guilt I understood too well. Living, even for a moment, after someone you loved had died, carved up your insides. I drained the juice and still felt parched. “I need a refill.” I pushed my chair back. “Do you want anything?”

  Shadows darkening his eyes, he shook his head, gaze falling to the condensation beading on his water glass.

  “Graeson…” I began, not sure where to go from there, comforting others an unfamiliar task.

  “We don’t have long.” He flicked off the droplets one by one. “Vause is expecting you.”

  Easing from my seat, I approached the beverage station and poured more orange juice, drained the glass and then repeated the process. A prickle of awareness swept over me, and I turned. Graeson sat at the table, fork on his napkin, waiting for me, the ghost of his sister haunting his gaze.

  * * *

  The drive to Falco was silent but for the low buzz of the radio, the car filled with things neither of us was saying. I had turned to answering emails on my phone to distract myself from the price I was about to pay in order to purchase another scrap of information that might help us end this man hunt before another girl was taken. Graeson’s voice, after such heavy quiet, startled me into dropping my cell in my lap.

  “You reek of grief.” He killed the radio. “The closer we get to town, the more intense it becomes.”

  Suppressing the urge to sniff myself, I wrinkled my nose. “I’m thinking of the victims.”

  It wasn’t an outright lie. It was a miracle this one girl out of so many had escaped. I hadn’t stopped wondering what made her different since Vause told me about her. My job put me in direct contact with victims, their families and friends. Meeting a survivor? That was almost enough to buoy my introspective mood.

  “That’s not it. You’ve been distraught since you spoke to Vause.” He cut his gaze my way. “Who is Lori?”

  The bottom fell out of my stomach. “You were eavesdropping?”

  “My hearing is superior to yours,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I can�
�t help what I overhear.”

  He sounded all torn up over it too.

  “Don’t mention her name again.” My voice trembled. Grief. Rage. I wasn’t sure there was a line separating the two where she was concerned.

  Graeson got quiet, but it was the unsettling peace of a man deep in thought. I didn’t trust it.

  Hours later we hit the strip qualifying Falco as a town and parked on the curb in front of a faded meter with crackled glass. Blinds slatted three of the storefronts’ windows. A “For Lease” sign had been taped to the door of each empty space. The fourth, the one on the end, was papered over with old newsprint. If I tilted my head just right, the pane glimmered with a sheen of magic. Nothing about it advertised the purpose of the space, but two people entered and four left before we reached the door.

  After stepping across the threshold, glamour flared behind my eyes and faded to leave green images superimposed on my retinas. We had stepped off the mundane street and into a gleaming lobby with a wide receptionist desk manned by a dryad wearing a handful of leaves artfully arranged into a halter-style dress. Other fae lounged in over-plush chairs or helped themselves to a food-service station that smelled spicy and rich with heated beverages.

  The scent of fresh chai brewing made my mouth water. “What is this place?”

  “This is safe house two-four-nine,” a chilly voice intoned. “It’s a low-level facility for fae assimilating into the area after forceful relocation from their home territory.”

  The clipped voice at my ear made me jump. Throat tight, I propped my lips into a smile before I turned.

  A petite woman stood behind me. At five-five I wasn’t tall, but I towered over her. Pale blonde hair a few shades lighter than mine was swept into a bun so tight I could probably bounce a quarter off her coif. Cornflower-blue eyes swept over me with anticipation, as if expecting me to yank Lori out of my jacket pocket. Two slender men outfitted in black fatigues accompanied her. Their sharp eyes never stopped scanning the area. Their palms rested on the hilts of swords they made no effort to hide.