Blood of the Pride (8 page)

“Just wanted to check on you.” He shook the body-length wrap. “And I see you’re looking quite well.”

I turned off the water and slowly stepped out of the bathtub, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of my body. “If your definition of ‘well’ includes being covered with more scrapes and bruises than I have skin for, then I guess I’m just fine.” His eyes widened as I took the towel from him and wrapped it around me. “See something you like?”

He let out something between a whimper and a sigh as his eyes roamed over me. I allowed myself a smug inner grin. Been a while since I’d had an admirer and I was going to make the most of it.

“And before you ask, I like to play in the dark.” My eyes went below his belt.

He didn’t flinch, instead allowing me to pick up the clean clothing and saunter past him into the bedroom.

The bastard had not only gone and found the best towel in the house but he had made up the bed with a new set of white sheets retrieved from my linen closet. The old ones, neatly folded, lay in the corner. Great. He was housebroken.

I dropped the damp towel on the floor, reveling somewhat in my domination of the situation. It wasn’t too often I had the chance to render a loudmouth schnook speechless.

“Your back.” The words weren’t whispered in awe of my superior form. Closing my eyes, I winced. I had forgotten. Been a long time since I’d been naked in front of anyone other than Jazz.

His eyes had to be locked on the crisscrossing scarlet scars on my back, where it looked as if I had been attacked by a tiger. The scars hadn’t faded much thanks to my skin being so fair and I knew he saw them almost as fresh as the day I had received them.

I reached down and grabbed my sweatshirt. It took a second to yank it over my head, my damp ponytail getting in the way.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. The sweatpants were next, with me hopping from one foot to the other as I made my way toward the stairs.

“Accident?”

“Of a sort.” I walked down the steps, putting one hand out to balance myself. The bloody smears on both sides of the staircase laid out the trail of our battle to the final crashing halt on the landing. I paused there for a minute, letting the new wave of smells drift across my tongue. “What’s that?”

“Tea, toast and I managed to find some jam in the back of the refrigerator that wasn’t moldy.” The soft laugh reached my ears while he walked down to stand behind me. “Grape, I do believe. And you really need to stock more stuff in there.”

“I usually eat out.” I made my way to the kitchen and spotted the fat Brown Betty teapot sitting on the table with two cups daintily set out, milk already in the bottom of the mugs. Two slices of toast, neatly buttered and sliced in half, made up the rest of the menu with the aforementioned bottle of jam sitting by my plate with a spoon waiting to do service.

I sat down and picked up the big brown teapot, wincing at the ache in my arm. “Shall I pour?”

“Sure.” Bran watched while I filled both mugs and returned the teapot to the tabletop with a resounding thud. “Sore, eh?”

“You think?” I picked up one piece of toast and smeared enough jam onto the bread to make it bend under the weight. “You roll down the stairs and see how you feel.”

“Been there, done that.” He slid another pair of white pills across the table. “Figured you’d want another set of these since the last ones didn’t survive.”

“Thanks.” I washed them down with a mouthful of hot tea and looked at him over the brim of the mug.

Bran picked up his own mug and cupped it with both hands. “So, want to tell me about this guy? And why we’re not having this conversation with some detective down at the police station?”

I chewed the toast slowly, drawing out the experience as long as possible. “There’s a lot here I can’t tell you about, a lot that the cops don’t need to know and can’t know.”

“I figured that out.” Rocking back on the wooden chair, he smiled. “However, if you get killed, it will really, really impact my story in a negative way.” A sly wink shot my way. “Aside from making me pretty upset.”

The ceramic mug had grown hot to the touch, almost burning my fingers. “I have to call my client first.” I took another bite of toast and shrugged, feeling the pull on my shoulders. “You know how this game goes.”

“That I do.” He got up and disappeared into the other room for a second, returning with my portable phone. “I’ll give you a bit of privacy.” Another disarming grin. “Let’s see how many channels you actually get in this place. I’ll be upstairs.”

I waited until I heard the reassuring creak of the steps before dialing Jess’s number. It rang thirteen times before the line clicked over to live.

“Hello?” Jess’s voice struggled through the air. “What?”

“Who in the Pride has a white stripe running down one side of his nose? Male, tall over six feet or so?” My words were clipped. “Bastard just tried to kill me here in my own home and you have no idea of how pissed I am right now.”

“What?” Jess’s response shot to full awareness. “What the hell…”

“Thanks for your concern,” I snapped back, growling into the receiver. “Now tell me who’s got that marking.”

“What, you think we remember everything about everyone?” Jess snarled, now fully awake, “You know the rules. No computer files, nothing out of the Library unless the Board approves it.”

“You know who’s got those markings, which family line. If not, find out. I’ll be up there by dawn.” My eyes moved to the doorway leading to the office. “And I won’t be alone.” I hit the disconnect button before she could start complaining, then move to whining and then threatening. I wasn’t in the mood for it. Jazz wandered in from the other room and wrapped herself around my feet with a comforting purr. She knew exactly what I was going to be dealing with. Another visit to the farm.

Except I wasn’t going to the farm alone. I was bringing a stranger into the heart of Pride territory and rubbing it in their faces that I wasn’t a part of their world anymore. It would be dangerous for Bran and me but I had to try to get the upper hand in this game before someone got killed.

Like me.

The Brown Betty had one last cup in it and I drained every drop I could from the battered old ceramic teapot before putting it in the sink. The toast had settled in my stomach nicely with the painkillers, which were probably holding back the headache I should have from calling Jess.

Bran was sitting on the bed, the remote in one hand and in his other a clump of brownish-black fur. My stomach did a flip-flop. He must have collected it from the bedroom while he cleaned up and I was in the shower.

He looked up as I sat on the bed beside him. “CNN’s got a good documentary going on the Middle East. That is, unless you really want to watch music videos. About the best thing on at…” He checked his watch. “Four o’clock in the morning.”

“What’s that?” I rolled the words lightly off my tongue, nodding toward his other hand. “Dog fur?”

“I thought you’d be able to tell me.” He dropped the remote on the bed and rolled the fur between both his hands into a small ball. “See, I found this all over your bed. And all the way down the stairs. I’m not seeing a dog around here and your cat’s very, very white. So I have to ask myself,” his eyes met mine, “what sort of creature attacked you and why aren’t you even a little bit surprised?”

I put my fingers on my temples and rubbed hard. This was not how I envisioned an evening with a handsome, available man in my bedroom was supposed to go, even in my kinkiest dreams. “I have to get dressed. There’s some place we have to go right now.”

“Good. I think a drive will do us both good.” He stood up and tucked the fur into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll bag it when I get downstairs. I’m sure you have a Ziploc around somewhere.” Before I could respond he had vanished down the stairs into a whole different area of trouble.

I got to my feet and walked over to the window, feeling the cool night air rush in. Looking outside showed no ladder, just the slim drainpipe running from my roof down to the ground. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that’s how he’d climbed up. In full Change he would have only taken a few seconds to scurry up the thirty feet or so to my bedroom window.

My eyes caught a few more stray hairs fluttering in the light wind, sticking out of various nooks and crannies on the pipe itself and the bricks. I could have collected them to prove my point that they matched the single strand that I had plucked from the crime scene but I didn’t bother. His scent was the same and that was good enough for me.

Now I had to deal not only with a curious reporter but also with an angry Board who was going to be thrilled at having a human on the farm.

A clean T-shirt and jeans replaced the tracksuit and I tossed the still-damp clothing onto the freshly made bed. While I tied up my running shoes, I wondered what sort of reception I was going to receive at the farm. The first time I’d been there it was at the Board’s request. This time I was barging in to look at top-secret records and dragging a tabloid reporter with me. This was not going to go over well but I’d be damned if I would let Bran out of my sight at this point. He already knew much more than he should and I didn’t want the Board deciding to call a hunt on him just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it might just temper Jess’s reaction to have a witness along. Either way he’d be in danger, but at least if I took him along it’d be on my terms and I might be able to keep him alive.

Bran stood at the bottom of the stairs, tapping his foot. He wasn’t going to leave me alone for a second.

I made my way down the steps, wincing as a misstep jarred my shoulder and sent shooting pains across my back and down my spine. This was going to be a great drive. I gritted my teeth and kept walking, aware of Bran scrutinizing my every move.

“So, ready to go? And where are we going?” Bran offered me his arm, beaming as if he were the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary. I took it and wondered why I suddenly felt more avian than feline.

I picked up the house keys off my desk as we headed for the front door. Jazz meowed, weaving her way between our legs and beaming her approval of my company.

“You stay here and keep watch.” I wagged a finger at her, ignoring Bran’s wide grin. “In other words, keep out of trouble and don’t claw the couch.” The white cat hopped onto the chair then onto my desk before sprawling across a stack of folders and splaying them over the edge, onto the floor.

“Oh, she’s a bright one,” Brandon murmured when I sighed.

“She chose me. Keep that in mind.” I held back from berating my little sister. She was just doing it for attention. Couldn’t blame her, to be fair. In the last few hours I had brought in so many new scents and dangers that if she had disappeared out the window to go back to the streets for a week I wouldn’t have been surprised. I was pleased the fuzzaloid was still here.

The deadbolt slid home although it wasn’t as reassuring as it had been in the past. I made a mental note to not only get a new lock but also to consider adding a few more, including the windows.

The front yard was bare except for the dying grass I couldn’t keep alive for love or money. Bran followed me while I made a sharp turn down the small alleyway to what passed for a parking lot for my car.

Parkdale was full of these small alleys, leftover relics of the days of horse and buggy where you could just squeeze through the lane and pop out someplace else, avoiding the main streets. Some were paved, some covered with cobblestones and all were guaranteed to make you claustrophobic. All were usually inhabited by hookers plying their trade with their latest client or crack-heads getting high. I couldn’t tell you the number of times I stepped over used needles or worse, a stack of used condoms.

Bran wrinkled his nose as we approached the Jeep. “Sure it’s safe to leave your car out here?”

I turned the car alarm off and unlocked the doors with the remote. “I pay one of the local homeless fellows to watch it. He’s usually over there but I expect he’s hitting up the dumpsters right now after the bars close down. Lots of good pickings if you’re not fussy.”

“And you trust him?” He slid into the passenger seat as I fiddled with my seat belt.

“Why not?” I replied as we inched along the alley. Bran flinched while we skimmed the walls. “I think of it as supporting my local businessman.”

We stopped at the same rest area I had visited just yesterday, my mind still spinning with the speed of the events of the past twenty-four hours, not to mention a good hit of painkillers.

Bran jumped out of the car with a wide smile on his face. “Coffee and donuts are on me. Unless you want some sort of healthy breakfast food.”

I shook my head, turning the engine off and undoing my seat belt. My shoulders were aching and I needed a good hour or three in a hot tub. I glanced over at Bran’s hands and flashed back to that one abbreviated shoulder rub and wondered how a sequel would feel.

“Good. I really don’t think I’m ready for the fresh fruit and cottage cheese plate.” He got out of the car and opened my door, extending a hand.

I shrugged it off and gritted my teeth, ordering my aching body to move as normally as possible.

The Tim Horton’s was filled almost to capacity, the morning commuters rushing to their daily jobs. I envied their enthusiasm and their stamina. I would have gone postal after doing that commute for more than a week. A trio of businessmen swarmed the counter just ahead of us, multitasking by screaming into their Bluetooth headsets and tapping on their Blackberries while ordering some semblance of a breakfast with the largest coffees the franchise sold. Black, of course. Nothing diluted that coffee strength and quality for them.

Hanover tapped his foot as the three customers began to discuss or rather fight over the actual cost of the coffees and how they would distribute the change fairly with whoever would receive the receipt, probably to put on their business account. Finally they left, allowing us to get to the counter before Bran blew a fuse.

A few minutes later we sat at one of the few empty tables in the rest stop chewing on yet more donut holes and sipping coffee. Bran frowned as he rotated a chocolate-glazed globe between his fingers.

“Ever wonder exactly how many calories are in one of these?”

“I don’t. Too depressing,” I mumbled between a mouthful of coffee and cinnamon. “And don’t tell me you’re watching your figure.”

He preened himself, sliding one of his arms out of the jacket to flex his biceps in a mock muscleman pose. “What, you think I got this by eating junk food?”

Taking the bait, I reached across the table to pinch the steel muscle with two fingers. “Ooh. I’m impressed.” Dang it, it felt like iron. I pressed my lips together. “My, you’re just one tough reporter, you are. Too bad you’re wasting time working for that rag.”

His face fell as he pulled away, tucking his bare arm back into the jacket. “The
Inquisitor
’s not a rag.”

“It’s sure not anything I’d take seriously. How did you end up working for them?”

“You’ve done your research on me. You tell me.” He sipped the coffee with one eye on the businessmen who were now dissecting the bill, item by item.

“I don’t know. You graduated with good marks and did all the right things, worked up a good portfolio of interviews and non-fiction articles at small magazines. Award-winning stuff if I remember correctly. Then suddenly you end up on the staff list at the
Inquisitor
.”

He dipped a plastic stir stick into his paper cup and began to stir the already murky liquid. “Yep. That was me, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and eager to get out there and win the Governor General’s Literary Award with some hot exposé.” Bran nodded, his full attention now on the coffee. “I thought I was pretty hot shit, to be honest. I was going to save the world with some great writing.”

The businessmen were now engrossed in their PDAs, each in their own little world tapping out text messages and changing the course of history while sipping good coffee.

“My parents tweaked some noses, got me a freelance assignment with one of the big Toronto papers.” He took a mouthful of cooling coffee and swished it around his mouth before swallowing. “I decided to go native. I ended up hanging out down in Toronto with a group of homeless kids, getting their stories and tracking their progress for an entire year.”

I didn’t say anything. Beside us the trio began to pack up their Blackberries and Bluetooth gear. They finished their coffees and left a mess on the table despite being only a few feet from a garbage disposal can.

“It was a horrible way to live.” He let out a sigh. “Every few weeks I would scamper back to my nice clean condo and get showered and eat a decent meal and then go back to the kids who had probably just washed their hair in the washrooms at the Eaton Centre. They knew I was a reporter but they didn’t care. I was the only one listening to them. Not judging, not offering advice, not telling them what I thought, just listening. No cameras, no laptops, nothing but my journals.”

I picked up another chocolate donut hole. The three men sauntered out into the parking lot and piled into a huge SUV. They bustled out of the rest stop at high speed, headed toward their next great acquisition.

“Two of the kids overdosed one night while I was at home, dining on steak. The cops found them in an alleyway with the needles still stuck in their arms. Bad dope. There was a lot of that bad shit on the streets for a few months back then. Lots of deaths.” He put one end of the stir stick in his mouth. The black plastic stick bobbed up and down between his lips. “A girl and a boy. They thought they loved each other. She was going to be an artist, used to draw on the sidewalks with that cheap chalk you can buy at the toy stores, a buck for a bucket. They used to pass up on meals to get her chalk.”

I nodded again. I knew better than to speak.

“He played guitar. Not great, but he had some talent. Used to busk on the streets every night to get money for the love of his life to get chalk. And heroin, of course.”

I stayed silent.

“The rest of the group broke up after that. Did I mention she was six months pregnant?” Bran bit down on the stir stick. “They disappeared and I went to write my story. Turned it in.”

“And they didn’t print it.”

Bran looked at me sideways with a sad smile on his face. “They printed it. Oh, Lord, they printed it. And suddenly every television station, every movie producer was banging on my door to get my side of the story.”

I almost coughed up one of the chocolate bites. I remembered seeing some news articles about it, some special reports babbling about a journalist who’d gotten the best story about street life in years. It hadn’t registered with me because I’d been elbows-deep in a child custody battle and more worried about the guy fleeing the country than staying current with the news. I’d seen the articles but never realized how important they had been in creating the man sitting across from me.

“But it wasn’t about the kids, it was all about me and my experiences. They didn’t really want the story about the kids and what put them there, the social and family problems that pushed them onto the streets and finally to the comfort of a dirty needle. About the agencies that were underfunded and understaffed and how the kids fell through the cracks.” Bran shook his head. “It was all about the glamour, all about the reporter and not the story. It became all about me, the rich kid who slept on the streets with the poor kids.” He looked at me. “I walked away from it all, turned down all the movie offers and the requests for more stories, more gossip. I already had enough money, I didn’t need more. I went back to the streets and tried to find the rest of the group, give them what I could to get them out.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t find anyone.” He turned and looked out in the parking lot. The cars were growing sparse, the morning rush just beginning to abate. “They were all gone. I don’t know if they went back to their homes to got some help at a rehab clinic or to another city or just died somewhere in a back alley. I don’t know.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a rush. “They’re tough, they’d have been fine.”