Freak City Page 5

  His hyper-sensitive hearing picked up the sound of movement from within. Someone trying to be stealthy. A normal human wouldn't have noticed anything.

  A faint flicker in front of the peephole preceded a clicking of the knob, then the door's abrupt opening. “Get in here, before they see you!"

  Probably a little late for that, he thought, though he made no comment as he slipped inside. “Hurry!"

  The long trench coat and wide hat the fellow was wearing put him off a moment, until he'd zeroed in on his olfactory senses long enough to place him as Donner—as he'd initially expected. The meta exuded fear pheromones in a vast fog that actually left Ben a little dizzy.

  He followed Donner into the living room, where the devilish little man crouched and scurried under the level of the window until he reached the white sofa slid all the way up against the back wall. The rest of the furniture, such as the coffee table, had been pushed to the sides to leave the middle of the room a completely empty expanse of blue-gray carpet. The blinds were drawn tight, plunging the room into a semi-permanent gloom.

  Rather than climb on the couch, he sat down in front of it.

  Ben stood in the doorway, taking all of this in. Donner sat with his back against the couch, the black trench coast bunched around his thighs. His skin, red the last time Ben had seen him, was a bleached-out pink.

  "They're going to kill me!” Donner said, tucking his knees into his chest and rocking back and forth against the sofa.

  "Who's going to kill you?"

  Donner didn't answer. He continued rocking.

  Oh—kay. He spotted the phone sitting on the coffee table in front of the window and marched over.

  "Stay away from the window!” Donner hissed.

  Ben ignored him. He was clearly paranoid and not thinking clearly. Besides, no one could see through the shades anyway.

  A moment later a bullet shattered the glass and plowed into his shoulder with enough force to spin him around.

  He crashed onto the carpet, looking up at a shocked-looking Donner. “Told you,” the devilish meta said.

  Ben snarled up at him and rolled over on his back. “Ah, crap.” He held the phone up to his face with his injured arm and shakily dialed Amanda's number.

  * * * *

  "No hospital,” Ben told her, laying on the carpet with his shoulder leaking crimson on the gray carpet. The apartment was crawling with uniformed TPD officers. Nemesis Breed stood by the window with the shades drawn all the way up.

  She crouched, eye level with the projected point of impact, crunching the glass underfoot. “Looks like the shooter was across the street."

  Amanda nodded. She'd already figured that out. She didn't need a CSU to plot a basic trajectory. “Donner says he was the target."

  "Probably right. Dalmas hasn't had a chance to piss anyone off but us."

  Amanda snickered. “He says it was more or less an accident that he was here at all."

  "Uh-huh.” Breed stood, turned halfway around. Her eyes flicked down to Ben groaning on the floor, a bloody cloth pressed to the wound. “Maybe this'll teach him to keep his nose out of stuff that's out of his league."

  "Fat chance,” Ben muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Where's Donner?"

  "He's in custody as a material witness. The guy's scared as hell, so he's not objecting. Says they were trying to kill him. You need to go to the hospital, Ben.” Amanda bent him a look of mingled concern and frustration.

  "I'll be fine.” He looked around surreptitiously. “All I have to do is shift,” he said, once he was sure none of the uniforms were close enough to overhear. “That'll fix me right up."

  "You guys need your own medical staff,” Breed said thoughtfully. “What do you want to bet he's worried about someone getting a sample of his blood and running a bunch of tests on it?"

  "No takers,” Amanda grunted. “He's worried about that—if he's smart."

  "I'm sitting right here,” he objected. “You don't need to talk like I'm not."

  Breed snorted. “You're bleeding on the guy's carpet."

  Ben winced as he stood up, shaking his head. “What's your point?"

  She shrugged. “It's a nice carpet. Nice apartment, actually."

  "He was a judge back before he got all red and devilish. They make pretty good money,” Amanda observed.

  "Wife said he didn't get into any of the accounts they held together—then, or since. She didn't know if he was dead or alive."

  "So he had money she didn't know about."

  "Yeah—and how do you think that happened?"

  Amanda pursed her lips. “He was dirty."

  "As the bottom of a pig farmer's shoes,” Breed said, nodding. “And he was getting away with it."

  "Until he got a little on the side that gave him the metavirus and fucked his whole life up,” Ben commented, rubbing at his shoulder with the rag. A moment later they heard a sound like a sodden pop and the slug fell out and bounced off the carpet.

  He pressed the towel against the slowly leaking wound and grinned sheepishly. “Had a feeling that might happen.” He leaned over and plucked the slug from the floor, turning it slowly between his forefinger and thumb. “Rifle slug. Looks like a 7.65 millimeter NATO round."

  Amanda raised a brow. “Didn't know you knew weapons."

  "I didn't. Until Scorpius got through with me."

  "Sounds like him,” Breed said, a half smile sliding across her thin lips. “You can probably field strip just about any kind of weapon—and it's a weapon, not a gun—in thirty seconds ... in the dark ... while holding your breath."

  "Uh ... yeah. How'd you guess?"

  "I know Scorpius,” she answered with a barking laugh. “He's an old-school Marine."

  "Has he made an honest woman of Rachel yet?” Amanda asked.

  "Are you kidding? She'll get married when they're playing hockey in hell."

  "C'mon. Bring the bullet. We'll put it in evidence.” Nemesis turned and walked out. Shrugging, Amanda turned to follow.

  Ben dragged the rear, pausing at the front door for a minute to probe at the bloody hole in his polo shirt. Once he'd expelled the slug the wound had closed over almost instantly. He walked out with the slightest hint of a swagger. I might not be faster than a speeding bullet, but even a silver one isn't going to punch a hole I can't deal with.

  He took the stairs two at a time, grinning. “So—what are we waiting for?” He trotted over to Amanda's SUV, tried the door handle, then leaned against the side of the car and waited for her to walk around to the driver's door.

  "You know,” she said, as he climbed in beside her, “that whole ‘I'm bulletproof’ thing could get really old really fast."

  "I'll try not to rub it in,” he told her. “So, where we going now?"

  "Crime lab,” she answered with a sigh. “We'll verify your identification of the slug and I'll find out if there's anything new on the Market Street case. Work for you?"

  "Not a problem."

  Four

  The rain came down in buckets, icy and blown nearly vertical by the stiff wind roaring through the city. Amanda pulled her collar up around her neck and shivered as she plodded through the downpour. She never meant to be out in this stuff, and would have greatly preferred to be driving, but if she was to find the person she was looking for, a foot search was the only way to do it.

  Donner had identified a man named Parsons as his contact with whoever had been paying him off. It had been a simple deal, really. Parsons would contact him and let him know who his boss wanted ‘released on a technicality,’ or given a slap on the wrist, and who he wanted to feel the full brunt of the law's wrath.

  Why he even gave a damn Donner didn't know. Nor did he care to guess. He got a cool and easy ten thousand every time Parsons contacted him and he did what he was told. Questions seemed a likely way to screw the deal, so he had none worth mentioning.

  Now that he'd been transformed into what he was—unable to serve the use he'd been rec
ruited for—he'd become a liability. When he'd failed to incite a full-scale riot against the metas by his attack on Seymour, they'd decided they'd had enough of him.

  Or so the story went.

  Sixth Avenue had been where he'd met the man to collect his fee. Armed with his story and a police artist sketch, Amanda had gone out on her own to snoop around.

  If Ben knew what she was up to, it would probably piss him off. Waiting for the Academy class to open up was driving him crazy. He wandered the city nearly every day, learning the streets and making contacts. But it was getting increasingly difficult for her to go about her work without him trying to invite himself along. She still wasn't sure if it was because he was generally bored, wanted to gain a jump on ‘learning the ropes,’ or if he was showing the very kind of protective streak she just wasn't willing to deal with. She didn't need to be protected.

  She was just passing Pine Street when two men in black slickers fell in beside her. A hand like iron descended on each of her arms. They led her into a dark doorway and wedged her between them and the shop door. “Ms. Keening."

  She glared up at them. Both veritably towered over her, but, then again, damn near every man on the planet did. She couldn't quite make out their faces, shadowed as they were by their broad-brimmed slouching hats. “Who the fuck are you?” she snarled.

  She resisted the urge to reach for her pistol. With her jacket buttoned up the way it was, there was no way she could get to the pistol in her shoulder holster. She'd never thought it was that important. Now she knew better.

  "Your grandfather sent us, Ms. Keening.” The guy sounded like he gargled glass for entertainment.

  "Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten the old bastard was still alive. What's he want?"

  "That's not for us to say.” In contrast, the second man's voice was as smooth as gourmet vanilla ice cream.

  A long black limo pulled up alongside the curb and the back door slowly opened. The two men gently pushed her into the back and climbed in behind her. She reached for her weapon but one of those vice-like grips fell on her wrist and squeezed just hard enough to make the bones in her wrist creak. “Let go of me, you freak."

  "Amanda.” The voice was a rasping whisper. Her head swiveled to the opposite seat and into the clouded eyes of her paternal grandfather. He sat slouched forward on the seat, clutching the carved ivory head of his walking stick in his gnarled, palsied fist. “I was hoping you'd given up this foolishness."

  "Funny,” she shot back, “I was hoping the same thing of you."

  His eyes sparked angrily for a moment, then glazed over again. “You are my only heir, Amanda. I don't have a lot of time left to argue with you about this."

  "Then don't bother, Grandfather. Why waste your breaths when you don't have many left?"

  He didn't like that at all. She was past caring.

  The car slowly pulled away from the curb. “This is kidnapping, Grandfather. Kidnapping of a Federal agent."

  "What are you going to do—press charges against me?” he asked with a dry chuckle. “The last thing I am worried about is going to jail. By the time they could push it through court I would already be dead."

  He almost seemed cheerful about it.

  Creepy old weirdo, she thought. “Let me go. Now.” Her eyes grew steely as she met and held his gaze. Somehow he sensed the conversation had turned dangerous, but he didn't know how. He leaned forward and peered at his granddaughter with a puzzled expression crossing his wrinkled face.

  She was in magesight, reaching out surreptitiously for a strand of mana flowing through the car, when one of the goons realized something had gone wrong. He might not have known what it was, but that didn't stop him from diving for his gun.

  She unfolded the thread and dived forward into the hole as gunfire erupted behind her. Something clipped her shoulder and she tumbled heavily onto her own living room floor, slamming her head into the side of her coffee table with enough force that she saw stars. Trying to push herself up, she realized that she'd lost all control of her left arm. Warm blood coursed from her torn shoulder, spreading a scarlet stain on her deep green carpet.

  She collapsed, left with just enough presence of mind to call out for Ben before a massive wave of midnight hit her with all the force of a tsunami.

  * * * *

  A uncomfortable murmur ran through the side of the ER waiting room as people crammed themselves into the back corner to avoid the huge, furry, fanged creature stalking back and forth across the opposite side of the room.

  Ben had bolted out of the bedroom at the sound of Amanda's cry, spotted her pouring her life out onto the floor, and freaked out. His human shell fell away in the space of a few heartbeats. He scooped her up and, rather than bothering with something as slow and tedious as dialing 911 or taking the elevator down, he launched himself off the sixth floor balcony. He hit the ground with an earth-shaking impact, clenching her tight to his chest to protect her from the shock.

  He'd raced for Tacoma General, making the two mile run from her Stadium District apartment in less than two minutes. He'd had to duck to get through the automatic doors, cradling her to his chest and walking on three limbs like a gorilla.

  It took them a few minutes to get past the fact that she was a gunshot victim, not someone he'd been chewing on. It was the big teeth—the whole ‘all the better to eat you with’ connection. He'd nearly taken the first nurse's head off for even suggesting it.

  He spoke pretty well, for a creature with the face of a wolf. He explained what he knew—which wasn't much—and growled deep in his throat as they carted her into the back. That sent the other would-be patrons scrambling to be anywhere that didn't happen to be in reach of his huge jaws.

  He ignored them all, as much as he could, considering the stink of fear filling the ER.

  * * * *

  Less than an hour later he was starting to wind down, but wasn't about to change back into human form without clothes to change into. The idea of borrowing one of those ass-flash gowns didn't exactly suit, so he held onto his werewolf form as if his life depended on it rather than just his modesty.

  If not for the thick fur around his hips and groin he wouldn't have much modesty left to worry about, but that wasn't something that bore thinking about. So he didn't think about it.

  "Wolf-boy."

  He whirled, startled. Standing in the entrance was the tall, broad-shouldered frame of Athena Cross—a woman he'd met only once, and who still turned his bowels to ice water. Something about her got to him even in werewolf form. She was damn scary. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was that made her that way.

  Her gray eyes—the color of clouds on the verge of a storm—were blazing with a cold fire as she marched toward him. “Where is she?"

  "In the back,” he told her. “How'd you—"

  "You think a werewolf can run through town with a woman in his arms and charge into the TG ER without someone calling me?” Despite the thread of amusement in her voice, anger wasn't buried far below. “What happened?"

  "Hell if I know,” he answered waspishly. “I was half asleep and she called out from the living room. She must've portaled in—I didn't hear her come through the front door. I knew she'd been shot—I could smell the gunpowder on her, and the bullet in her arm. I did the only thing I could think of."

  "You did the right thing,” she answered. “I'm not mad at you. But I want to know what happened."

  She marched to the receiving desk and immediately engaged in a low, brutal-sounding discussion. The admitting nurse wasn't in a hurry to cooperate, apparently, something that was coming dangerously close to pissing the big woman off.

  A doctor emerged from the back, rubbing his hands together. He regarded the werewolf with a frigid blue gaze. Ben only caught the faintest whiff of fear rising from his ramrod-straight body. “You brought Agent Keening in?"

  "Yes,” he said, in a low growl. He wasn't trying to intimidate the man. Everything came out as a growl. The doctor's self
-possession had nothing to do with it. Really.

  "Agent Keening will be fine. She lost a lot of blood, but the bullet passed through without doing any real damage. She should consider herself lucky.

  Athena turned and strode over. Hearing's as good as mine, he thought. “Did I hear you say she was going to be all right?"

  The doctor nodded. “Pass through. Hey, you're Athena Cross.” He looked impressed.

  She didn't. “Can I see her?"

  "Sure. She won't be saying much for a while, though. She's still unconscious."

  "Fine. Call my office as soon as she wakes. What are you doing, Ben?"

  "I'm waiting,” he said. “I'm not leaving until I talk to her."

  His voice obviously carried. A few murmurs rose from the back of the room but a irritated glance quieted them quickly enough.

  "I'd rather you didn't,” the doctor put in. “You're disrupting my ER."

  "He's right,” Athena said. “Go home. Hell, I'll take you."

  His lip curled up into a silent snarl. Better not growl at your future boss. “Okay. As long as I get a call when she wakes up, too."

  * * * *

  Stepping out of the Athena's magical portal, Ben took two stumbling steps and fell to his knees. The transformation back to human came nowhere near as easily. Or painlessly. The adrenaline had absorbed some of the shock from the shift into werewolf form, but he had no such defense this time around.

  He knew it would hurt. It always did. But now, as tired as he was, as long as he'd held the shape, the change came like a rough ride over a deep-pitted road, jarring and slow.

  He passed out on the floor, woke up a few hours later. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, and staggered over to the caller ID. No call.

  He took a quick shower and hurriedly pulled on a pair of Levi's and a hooded sweatshirt, then threw on a heavy jacket, laced up his boots, and headed out the door. He was still a little muzzy, but at least now he wouldn't scare the hell out of everyone else in the ER.

  He walked into the ER and slipped into the back, following the thin trails of Amanda's scent that lingered amidst the strains of death and disinfectant. No one paid him the list bit of attention. As it always was backstage at a hospital. Every one he'd ever been to, anyway.