Blood, Ash, and Bone (12 page)

Trey nodded. “Okay.”

Jasper opened the door leading to the outdoor viewing area. He had Boone’s raw looks, but none of his cool Nordic temperament. Like his brother standing outside, he wore combat boots and camo and probably had six different weapons on him.

He glared at Trey, then turned the glare on me. “Daddy said alone.”

Through the open door, I saw Boone leaning against the wooden railing. He gave Trey a cursory glance, then nodded.

Trey didn’t react. His hands were open, shoulders dropped, backbone straight. He was calm and collected, but it was the poise of an unsplit atom. He wasn’t happy about this, but he was willing to trust me. The thought made my heart pound.

Or maybe that was Jasper with the .45 in his waistband.

Too late to reconsider.

I went through the door, and Jasper shut it behind me.

Chapter Sixteen

Boone watched me approach. He wore tiny round spectacles that intensified his eyes, hazel green going to ice-gray at the edges, like moss caught in a frost.

He pulled off the glasses. “Well, look at you.”

I stepped into his embrace. His chest felt thin against mine, and I realized he was skin and bone under his jacket. His scent was a punch in the memory banks—Red Man chewing tobacco and Lifebuoy soap.

Jefferson watched from the edge of the wooded trail. Darker in hair, keener of eye, and swarthier than his brother, he had the calm authority of the eldest son. Despite his demeanor, I knew he was on red alert. So were Jasper and Trey back in the observation room. Boone and I were the epicenter of so much aggression-fueled focus, I thought we might combust like ants under a magnifying glass.

Boone examined Trey with sharp appraisal. “You brought muscle?”

“No. That’s my boyfriend.”

“He’s a cop.”

“Ex-cop.”

“Same difference.” Boone polished his glasses on his sleeve. “He’s got Black Irish in him.”

“On his mother’s side, yes.”

“And his father?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. The man abandoned his family when Trey was two.”

Boone regarded Trey with new eyes. In the enclosure, the wolf closest to us stopped pacing and turned its nose into the wind. It was colored the hard pale white of quartz, its every movement honed and deliberate.

Boone put his glasses back on. “So what ant hill you gone and stirred up now?”

I told him the story. He eyed me with curiosity. “You think somebody killed that old man down in Florida?”

“The autopsy said natural causes.”

Boone smiled wryly. “Every death’s from natural causes.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. But you got this story secondhand from John Wilde.” He spat on the ground. “Why concern yourself with his business?”

“Because that’s all it is—business. You know how that goes.”

He clucked his tongue. “So what do you want from me?”

“Information.”

“Why should I help you now?”

“Oh, come on, Boone!”

“I haven’t heard a word from you since your mama’s funeral.”

“And you know that’s not true. I sent you a thank-you card for those flowers. The ones you didn’t put your name on? The pot of marigolds? Don’t even pretend that wasn’t you.”

He didn’t deny the accusation.

“So help me or don’t help me, but don’t make it about what an ungrateful wretch I am.”

He smiled. “Did I say I wouldn’t help you? I made up my mind when I heard you were coming back home.”

I didn’t ask him how he’d heard. He kept his ears pricked, like the wolves.

“I’m out of my league here,” I said. “Trey’s equipped to deal with this kind of stuff—”

“He looks like it.”

I laughed. Boone wasn’t one to be fooled by a little Armani. I glanced over at the observation area. Trey was watching one of the wolves, a dark gray creature as lean as a shadow. The wolf was watching him right back.

I turned back to Boone. “But this is my battle, not Trey’s. And I don’t want it following me back to Atlanta.”

“Makes sense. Anything in particular you want to know about?”

“This woman, for starters.” I handed him the still shot from the elevator footage. “Her name is Hope Lyle, although she may be using an alias.”

He examined the image, then shook his head. “Nothing on her.”

“How about this guy, Winston Cargill?” I handed him another printout, pulled from the Lowcountry Excursion website, featuring Winston resplendent in one of his Hawaiian shirts. “He’s hiding something, for sure, including a big box of something under his front counter.”

Boone looked at me over his glasses. “You heard I’m on the straight and narrow, right? Don’t reckon I’ll be peeking under any man’s front counter.”

“I’m not here to sic a burglar on anybody. All I want is information.”

“About these two?”

“Yes. And the local Klan. Rumor has it they’re poking about in the same spots I am.”

The words fell between us into a flat uncomfortable silence. Boone looked significantly at Jefferson, who returned the gaze evenly. Then he looked at me.

“I don’t run with that crowd anymore. But they know better than to lay a hand on you.”

“Are they in the trade right now?”

“What trade?”

“The Confederate relic trade.”

Boone scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose so.”

“Will they be at the Expo?”

“Guess you’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?”

“So—”

“That’s all I’m saying. You’ll have to figure out the rest yourself. But watch yourself, girl. The brotherhood does not play.”

I didn’t ask any more questions. Information was a commodity, after all; it had its own systems of commerce. I leaned on the wooden railing next to Boone. The wolves went about their business.

Boone waved his hand at the gathered pack. “Which one you think is the alpha?”

The slate-colored wolf was now sitting right in front of Boone, staring at him with challenge in its clear gray eyes. I pointed.

Boone shook his head. “Nah. That’s Cheyenne. He’s the beta.”

I looked over to where Trey stood. A large silver-gray wolf now paced back and forth in front of him. It reminded me of the way Trey paced sometimes, tight turns, repetitive.

“That one?”

“Nope. That’s Brook. Mid-level.” Boone pointed. “See the white one over there, next to the den?”

“The one that’s asleep?”

“Pfft. He’s not asleep. That’s Odin. All the other guys are scrambling for any opportunity that comes, but Odin? He knows he’s top dog.” Boone put a foot against the fence and leaned forward. “Your feller over there? He’s all alpha. Probably quiet, though, when he’s not knocking heads. Real clear ideas about right and wrong. Reads people like a book.”

I kept my expression blank. Yes, Trey could read people, but only the lies, which lit up their faces like Times Square billboards. The motives behind the lies remained opaque to him.

I smiled Boone’s way. “They teach you that psychology stuff in the big house? Or you been watching Dr. Phil?”

Boone laughed until he started coughing. Jefferson took a step closer, his features knit in concern, but Boone waved him back. Eventually he got his breath again, and Jefferson settled down.

Across the enclosure, I noticed another wolf rise, this time a mottled black and gray one. It shook off the dust, dipped its nose into the stream. Every other wolf in the enclosure looked its way, suddenly on point.

Boone jabbed his chin in its direction. “See that one?”

I squinted across the enclosure. The wolf was smaller than the others, self-contained and compact. “Another beta?”

“No, that’s Buckeye. A female, the only one in the pack right now.” Boone looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “And that makes her the most powerful creature out there.”

Chapter Seventeen

Once we were in the room, Trey went straight to his desk and unloaded his pockets—the leather notebook, primary pen, handkerchief, phone, secondary pen. I closed the door behind me.

“Are we being recorded now?”

“The system is sound-activated.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

He arranged his things according to some personal geometry, then took off his jacket and draped it on the back of the chair. I wasn’t used to seeing him against a backdrop of beiges and neutrals, thick curtains and pillowed upholstery. The suite looked so innocuous, and he looked so…not innocuous.

I locked the door behind me. “When you said you were taking care of the Hope situation, I didn’t think you meant this.”

“It seemed a prudent option. Considering.”

“And you just happened to have an audio surveillance system lying around?”

“I asked the director of Secure Systems if I could field test one. He agreed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I planned to tell you as soon as I saw you. But then I heard the first transmission and decided instead to meet you at Oatland Island.” He moved to the safe. “Why didn’t you tell me about Boone?”

“I didn’t think you’d let me go alone. But I was going to tell you when I got back.”

He unholstered his gun and unloaded it, then the mag. Everything went into the safe, joining his spare H&K in its travel case. I handed him my bag. It was specially designed for concealed carry, with a lockable holster and separate compartment for ammo. It held my S&W .38 and a speed loader. He double-checked each item before placing it inside the safe.

Through the window, a ripple of lightning fractured the dusk-dimmed sky. Another storm was coming, spawned by the weather system still spinning in the ocean.

I crossed my arms. “We’re not doing a grand job of trusting each other.”

He shook his head, eyes on the weapons. “No, we’re not.”

I moved behind him. “Remember when I said that I needed to up my game? And you agreed that you did too?”

“Yes.”

I turned him around to face me. “This isn’t how we do that.”

“I know.”

“So let’s start doing things differently. Let’s start right now.”

I unsnapped his holster, an Alessi custom-made that was practically unnoticeable under the well-tailored drape of an Armani jacket. I eased it off his shoulders, then leaned forward and put it in the safe with our respective armaments. He didn’t move, not even when my breasts brushed against his chest.

He put his hands on his hips. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to seduce me into a deal of some kind.”

“Not a deal. A compromise. You can keep your surveillance set-up, but I want the codes. I want to be able to turn it off when I’m in here.” I looked him in the eye. “When we’re in here. You and me. Doing certain you and me things.”

Trey cocked his head. “What if I reject this compromise?”

“Trey. Boyfriend of mine. I am asking sweetly—”

“That never works in interrogations.”

I pulled back. “Interrogation?”

“Technically, yes. You want the codes to the surveillance system. I am, however, resisting the idea of giving them to you.”

“Why?”

He kept his head tilted, scrutinizing me. “Because I still don’t trust you. Not completely. And I need to trust you.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we return to your first suggestion.”

“Which was?”

His eyes never left mine, and the challenge in them was acute and erotic and potent. “Trying something different.”

Now I was the wary one, especially when he shifted his weight into a neutral stance, his shoulders dropping. I was two seconds from ending up flat on my back. Again. Which was, I realized with a hot flush, a development ripe with possibility.

I stood on tip-toe, my mouth inches from his. “I want those codes.”

“They’re useless without the password.”

“Then I want your password too.”

He inclined his head lower. “I know.”

“Give it up, Trey.”

And then it happened. His mouth curved against my lips, and when I put my hand against his cheek, I felt the deep-set dimples revealing themselves. A smile, a slow deliberate one, brazen and enticing. My knees went weak as a wallop of thunder rolled in from the ocean and rippled through me in a wave.

“Make me,” he said.

***

Forty-five minutes later, I sat propped up against the cushioned headboard staring at his phone. The thunderstorm had arrived in full force, dragging sheets of rain behind it. The drops drummed on the balcony, occasionally hitting the window like bullets, almost as fierce as the lightning and keening wind.

I squinted at the screen. “Okay, where do I type the code?”

“You have to input the password first.”

“So what’s the password?”

“It changes daily. Every morning, I feed a new starter sequence into this program, and it creates a numeric password for me.” He tapped an icon. “And then I memorize it and erase it.”

I saw several grids, each like a tic-tac-toe square, numbers one through nine in the boxes. “This looks like Sudoko.”

“What do you know about matrices and determinants?”

“Nothing. You have to start at the beginning.”

He was still naked. So was I. It was a testament to my time with Trey that lying naked in bed talking about higher math felt perfectly normal.

“Okay. The beginning. Matrix codes are very difficult to crack. Using one to create a password is almost as secure as a randomly generated password, but there’s a repeatability factor in case I forget.”

“You don’t forget shit.”

“Mostly true. But if I ever do, I’ll need a way to generate the password again. Sequenced input generates a coded output. And even if the program is compromised, I can create the inverse matrix with a calculator and still access my data.”

“Sequenced?”

“A changing formula based on the day and date.”

He typed in tuesdayfifteen, then fed the letters into one of the seven matrixes. “Tuesday is the second day of the week, so…matrix number two.”

A numeric sequence appeared. He typed it in, then dragged another icon with his finger. “Once you’re in, finding the audio files is simple. They’re chronological.”

He clicked on the day’s collection, seven files. Some were only five minutes long; others lasted almost an hour. I looked at the most recent file, which was still taping, then handed his phone back to him. He logged out and put it on the bedside table. Such a remarkably simple system, but virtually impenetrable unless you knew the key. Which in many ways was exactly like the man himself.