2 Blood Trail (24 page)

As the car pulled away, Colin gave a shout of laughter and slapped Barry on the back. “Come on,” he yanked open the truck door and climbed in, “you’re not going to want to miss this!”

“Miss what?”

“What happens when he gets to the farm.”

“What happens?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Christ, Barry, I know your nose isn’t worth much but I don’t believe you didn’t smell that. That guy was so jealous he was practically green.” He leaned over and opened the passenger door. “You know, if you’d learn to read nonverbal clues you’d be a better cop.”

“Yeah?” Barry swung up into the truck. “And if I’d wanted to be in the canine corps, I’d have joined it.” He settled back against the seat cushions and buckled in. “I still want to know what happens when he gets to the farm.”

“Beats me.” Colin shot him a grin as he pulled out onto the street. “But it oughta be interesting.”

“You think this is pretty funny, don’t you?”

“We think most of you humans are pretty funny. Laugh a minute.”

“Sheep-fucker.”

“Yellow peril.”

“You know, Colin, your uncle’s probably not going to be too thrilled by you sending this guy out to the farm.” Barry drummed his fingers against the dash and shot a look at his partner. “I mean, you lot aren’t big on company just generally and right now. . . .”

Colin frowned. “You know, you’re right. I guess I was reacting to his scent and the situation. Uncle Stuart’s going to have my throat.” He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. “I guess I just didn’t think.”

“It’s your least endearing trait.” And one that would keep him from promotion; keep him on the street, in uniform. Barry doubted that Colin would ever rise any higher than constable and sometimes he wondered how the wer would manage when he moved on.

“Barry, I did
want
to tell you.”

“I know. Forget it.” And he knew that Colin could, the wer lived very much in the here-and-now. It would take a little longer for him.

This is ridiculous
.
It’s 11:30. Vicki’s likely asleep.
Celluci sat in his car and stared at the dark bulk of the farmhouse.
Or at least in bed.
He decided not to take that thought any further.
The lights are on in the kitchen. Someone’s up. I could at least make sure this is the right. . . .
“Jesus!”

The white head staring in the driver’s side window belonged to the biggest dog he’d ever seen. It looked to be part shepherd, part malamute, and, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear, part wolf. It didn’t look angry, just curious and its eyes. . . . Unable to decide if the eyes were as strange as he thought or if the glass was distorting them somehow, he cracked open the window enough for the head, but not the shoulders, and kept his finger on the switch in case the beast should lunge.

Not so much as a whisker crossed the edge of the window, but the wet black nose twitched once, twice as the cool air inside the car flowed out into the night.

The eyes were strange; it wasn’t just the glass. Celluci wasn’t quite sure what the difference was but he’d never seen a dog of any kind with eyes that looked so human.

Suddenly, the big dog whirled and ran barking for the house, its pale form flickering like a negative image against the night.

Realizing his choice had just been made for him, Celluci shut off the engine. He’d been announced. He might as well go in.

“Vicki. Come on, Vicki. Wake up.”

Vicki tried to ignore both the voice and the hand gently shaking her shoulder but, in spite of her best efforts, her body betrayed her and began losing its hold on sleep. Finally she surrendered, muttered an obscenity, and groped for her glasses. Cool fingers gripped her wrist, guiding her search. She didn’t bother opening her eyes until she actually had the glasses in place—not much point when she wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway.

In the dim spill of light from the hallway, she could just barely make out the darker outline of a man. It had to be Henry, not only was he the only adult male in the house who habitually wore clothes, but the temperature of his touch was a dead giveaway.

“Henry, I’m flattered but I’m exhausted. Get lost.”

She could hear the smile in his reply. “Next time I’ll be able to do more of the work. But that wasn’t why I woke you. We’ve got company and I think you’d better get up.”

“What time is it?”

“11:33.”

Vicki really disliked digital watches, only race horses and defense attorneys needed to time life to the second. “I just got to sleep. Can’t it wait until morning?”

“I don’t think so.”

“All right.” She sighed and swung her legs out from under the sheet. “Who is it?”

“Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci.”

“Say what!”

“Detec . . .”

“I heard you the first time. Close the door and turn on the light.”

He did as she requested, shielding his eyes against the sudden glare.

The clothes she’d worn this afternoon would have to do, Celluci had certainly seen her look worse. “Are you sure?”

“Very. Cloud checked out the car when it first pulled up. She said she could smell a gun, so I took a quick look. It’s Michael Celluci. Keeping in mind how we met, I’m not likely to forget him.”

Vicki had very little memory of how Henry and Celluci had met, but considering that she was tired and bleeding and about to become a demonic sacrifice at the time, that was hardly surprising. “What the hell is
he
doing here?”

“I don’t know.” Henry leaned back against the wall and waited while she pulled a T-shirt over her head before he continued. “But I thought you might like to be there when we found out.”

“Be there?” She stuffed her feet into sandals and stood, running both hands through her hair rather than search for a brush. “You couldn’t pay me enough to miss this explanation and if something isn’t very wrong that I
have
to know about immediately—and I’ll be damned if I can think of what that might be—I’ll have a few words to say in return.”

Because Henry had every intention of living for another four hundred and fifty years, he kept his initial response to that clamped firmly behind his teeth.

 

“Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci, ma’am. Is Vicki Nelson here?”

“Yes, she’s here. Henry’s gone to wake her.”

“That isn’t necessary.” Henry must’ve seen him approaching the house and recognized him.
He’s got
eyes
like an owl if that’s the case. I couldn’t see my hand a foot in front of my face out there, cloud cover’s got everything blocked off.
“It’s late. Now I know this is the right place, I can return tomorrow.”

“Nonsense.” The woman stepped back out of the way and motioned him into the kitchen. “You’ve driven all the way from Toronto, you might as well wait. She’ll be right down.”

If they’d gone to get her up, he didn’t really have a choice. The only thing worse than having Vicki dragged out of bed, would be having her dragged out of bed and not staying around to explain why. Slipping his shield and his ID back into his pocket, he followed a gesture into a chair, keeping a wary eye on the huge white dog who watched him from across the room.
This is ridiculous. One more night isn’t going to make a difference. And she’s not going to be happy about being woken up.

A red dog came out and sat beside the white. It looked less than happy to see him. It also looked larger although, considering the size of the first, Celluci found that difficult to believe. He shifted a little in his chair. “What, uh, kind of dogs are they?”

“They’re descended from an obscure European hunting breed. You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Something like wolfhounds?”

“Something like, yes.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, pinning him under a curiously intent gaze. “My name is Nadine Heerkens-Wells, my husband and I run this farm. Vicki is working for us at the moment. Is there something I should know, Detective?”

“No, ma’am. This doesn’t concern you.” In fact, Celluci was having a little trouble dealing with a friendship between the man he perceived Henry Fitzroy to be and this woman. Although physically she was quite striking, with her widow’s peak and sharp, almost exotic features, the quality of her surroundings said poor white trash. Her wrinkled sleeveless dress looked as if it had just been picked up off the floor and thrown on.
And there’s enough stuff scattered around to dress a half a dozen people, provided they’re not too fussy about the condition of their clothes
. None of the furniture could be less than ten years old, clumps of hair had piled up in every corner, and the whole kitchen had a kind of shabby ambience that indicated money was scarce.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and stood, turning to face the door leading into the hall.

“All right, Celluci, what’s wrong?” Vicki stopped barely a handspan from his chest and glared up into his face. “Someone had better be dying. . . .” Her tone added,
or someone’s going to be.

“What the hell happened to your head?”

“My what? Oh that. I was in a car accident this afternoon. I guess I hit the dash.” The fingers on her right hand patted the air over the purple and green swelling. “The hospital says it’s just a bump. Looks bad but no real damage.” Her eyes narrowed, glasses sliding down her nose with the motion. “Your turn.”

Henry, standing just inside the kitchen, hid a smile. Vicki obviously thought Celluci was entitled to hear about the accident; while she was telling him, the challenge dropped from her voice and posture. The moment she finished, it was back.

Celluci drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can we talk somewhere privately?”

“Privately?”

He glanced over her shoulder at Henry. “Yeah. Privately. As in I’d like to speak with you alone.”

Vicki frowned. She’d seen that look before. Politely translated, it meant he was ready to make an arrest. Why he should be aiming it at Henry. . . . “We’ll go out to your car.”

“I thought you couldn’t see in the dark?”

“I know what you look like.” She grabbed his arm just above the elbow and propelled him toward the kitchen door, throwing an “I won’t be long” to the room in general as they left.

The moment they were clear of the house, Peter stretched and said, “I wonder why she didn’t want to use the living room?”

Henry grinned. “Where you could’ve heard every word they said?”

“Well. . . .”

“Vicki has a pretty good idea of how well the wer can hear.” He walked to the window and stared across the dark lawn at Celluci’s car. “And she knows how well I can.”

 

“Well?”

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Where to start? “It’s about your friend, Mr. Fitzroy.”

Vicki snorted. “No kidding.”

“I did some checking into his background . . .”

“You
what?”

He ignored the interruption and continued. “. . . and there’re a number of discrepancies I think you should know about.”

“And I suppose you had a good
reason
for abusing police privilege?” The tension in her jaw pulled at her temple, sharpening the pain and spreading it out over her skull, but Vicki didn’t dare unclench her teeth. If Celluci had discovered Henry’s secret, she had to know about it and couldn’t risk it getting lost in a screaming fight.
Later
.

Celluci could hear the suppressed anger in her voice, could see the tightening of her lips in the pale oval of her face. He had no idea why she was hanging onto her temper but he knew it wouldn’t last so he’d better use the time he had.

“Your
reason
, Celluci.”

“You think what happened last spring wasn’t reason enough?”

“Not if you just started searching now, no, I don’t.”

“What makes you think I just started searching now?”

He could see the lighter slash of her smile. It didn’t look friendly.

“You drive all the way from Toronto, you barge into a strange house at 11:30 at night, you have me roused from sleep and dragged from bed, and I’m supposed to believe this is information you’ve had for months? Cop a plea, Celluci, the evidence is against you.”

“Look,” he turned to face her, “your friend isn’t what you think he is.”

“What do I think he is?” This didn’t sound good.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Celluci drove both hands up through his hair. “Hell, yes I do. You think he’s some sort of exotic literary figure, who can wine you and dine you and offer you moonlit nights of romance . . .”

Vicki felt her jaw drop.

“. . . but he’s got holes in his background you could drive a truck through. Everything points to only one answer; he’s got to be deeply involved in organized crime.”

“Organized crime?” Her voice came out flat, no inflection.