Born to Love (The Vampire Reborn Series) (Entangled Ignite) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

David wheeled onto the sidewalk, every movement agonizing from his shoulders and chest down to the palms of his hands. He’d pushed himself too hard yesterday, from the trek up and down the stairs to the night spent in Maggie’s arms.

Not that any amount of pain would make him regret that decision. Last night had been astonishing, filled with glimpses of a woman uncertain in her skin, yet determined and strong. Maybe strong enough to love him again.
He hoped
. For her love had been right there for him to see as she shared her body and soul with him.

“Two o’clock,” ADIC Hernandez called out quietly as Weasel appeared down the street, approaching his Delancey apartment building. The area had once been a Jewish ghetto, but had now been virtually swallowed by the growth of Chinatown.

“I’ll head him off,” David said while Jesus circled around to box in their target.

Weasel’s gaze flitted furtively all around, so David kept low in his seat, using the protection of the cars parked along the curb to hide him until Weasel was almost at the corner. Then David rolled out and blocked his way. The shifter uttered a grumbled curse as he jumped back to keep from colliding with him. Weasel started to lash out, but then realized who it was.

He set his hands on lean hips and eyeballed David with a disrespectful sneer. “You don’t really think
you
can catch me, do you, gimpy?”

In a flash, Weasel whirled and raced away, and bounced straight into Jesus’s broad and immensely larger bulk.

Like a mother cat carrying its young, Jesus grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and lifted him a few inches off the ground.

“Going somewhere, Weasel?” David asked sardonically as he rolled around to face the little shit.

“Put me down. I done nothing wrong,” Weasel cried, kicking and twisting his body in an effort to break free of Jesus’s grip, but to no avail.

Unamused, Jesus got right in the shifter’s face. “Stop struggling or we’ll cuff you and haul your ass into headquarters.”

Weasel quieted, his gaze bouncing anxiously between the two of them, but repeated, “I done nothing wrong.”

David glanced around at the windows and doors of the small shops and residences around them. Eyes gleamed bright red from behind window curtains in some, while from others the braver souls poked their heads out or even ventured onto the sidewalk to see what was going on.

Good lord. A were-ghetto.

With a sharp look at his ADIC, David pushed off on the arms of his wheelchair to get closer to the shifter. Pain radiated through his muscles. In a low whisper, he said, “We know you’re playing both sides, Weasel.”

“That’s a lie,” the shifter shot back, but his nose twitched with agitation while his gaze darted anxiously from them to the other were-rodents trying to listen in. Word would spread quickly if they heard.

David leaned in closer. “I don’t think you want it getting back to the pack leaders that we were here questioning you.”

“I got nothing to worry about,” Weasel said, but his nervous glances said otherwise.

David snorted. “My partner, the redhead, is a half-blood. She was sure she smelled wolf on you.”

“Lots of those smelly dogs around the other night,” Weasel muttered, his telltale twitches increasing. Obviously, David had hit a nerve.

Jesus lowered the creep to the ground, keeping a firm grasp on his neck. David leaned forward and sniffed deeply, acting like he was capable of picking up the scent. But as he inhaled, the thick smell of canine hit his senses.

He made a sound of disgust “Hell, I’m human and even I can tell. You smell like a wet dog.”

He peered down at Weasel’s shoes and noted the red-brown stains along the toe of one worn off-gray sneaker that he was sure had once been white. With a certain smile he said, “Looks like some pretty damning evidence there, ADIC Hernandez. What do you think? Blood?”

Jesus’s lips tightened into an angry slash as he bent to examine Weasel’s sneakers. “Hell, yeah. I think we’ve got ourselves a suspect.”

Weasel kicked out at Jesus’s shin, connecting with a loud
thunk
, but the ADIC was like a rock and didn’t relax his hold. Again Weasel attacked his legs, and lightning fast, Jesus had the little man down on the ground. He pinned Weasel’s arms behind his back and easily cuffed him despite the man’s bucking and struggling to loosen his grasp.

The ADIC hauled him to his feet and gave him a hard shake. “Assaulting a federal officer, Weasel. Not a good move.”

David helped drag the suspect to the van after cuffing him and they shoved him into the back seat.

After David settled himself behind the wheel, Jesus slid into the passenger seat. Turning to their prisoner, he pulled out his weapon, popped the magazine, and showed the shifter the silver bullets. “Don’t try to shift your way out of the cuffs, either,” he warned, and jammed the magazine back in with a loud
clack
.

Smothering a smile at the resigned look on the shifter’s face, David pulled away from the curb and drove back to headquarters, eager to grill the little creep.

…

Maggie had quickly confirmed that the blood on Weasel’s sneaker was not only human, but the same blood type as one of the victims killed in Randall Newark’s brownstone. DNA testing would determine if it was, in fact, from the young vandal.

Diana peered through the window of the interrogation room at the anxious shifter, who skittered around and around the periphery of the room as if looking for some hole through which to escape. He had been in there for several hours after the initial interview, which had yielded frustratingly few results. Weasel had maintained his innocence and pleaded ignorance as to how the bloodstains had gotten on his sneaker.

Diana knew there was only way it could have happened. Weasel had been at the scene of the crime. Judging from the splatter pattern, he may even have been there when one of the victims was killed. Unfortunately, neither his current clothing nor anything in his apartment had yielded any additional blood evidence. Clearly, Weasel had been smart enough to ditch whatever else he’d been wearing at the time of the murders.

At a soft knock on the door, Diana opened it to find Maggie, David, and Jesus, along with Brendon, Rafe, and Ryder standing outside in the hallway.

Ryder.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said pointedly, but politely, and with a firm hand on his arm, led him a few feet away from the rest of the group.

Ryder forestalled her lecture by saying quietly, “I dropped by thinking my wife might like to take a moment and get some dinner.”

She shot a look at her watch and cursed beneath her breath. It was well beyond time for a break and some nourishment. She had become so involved in sweating the shifter she had lost track of time. But now it was impossible to leave for dinner. To have any hope of breaking Weasel, they needed to keep the pressure on him.

“I’m sorry. I should have called,” she said, acknowledging the truce they had worked out the other night.

He cradled her cheek and offered a loving smile. “Darlin’, I know you’re busy. How can I help? Maybe some takeout?”

Glancing back at the others, she called out, “Anyone else as hungry as I am?”

After the chorus of agreement, she nodded and said, “I guess some food would be good. We can eat in the conference room.”

“The one with the murder boards?” he asked with a slightly discomfited look.

“That’s the one.”

“How appetizing,” he drawled, but added, “I’ll make the arrangements.”

He started to walk away, but she grabbed his jacket’s lapel and hauled him close for a hard, brief kiss.

When she released him, he gazed at her in puzzlement. “Really? In front of the kiddies?”

With a wry smile, she gave him a shove, and said, “Feed me.”

Cell phone already in hand, he walked away with a wink, and she returned to the group, most of whom were playing it cool about her open display of affection. All except David. As she approached, he grinned and said, “Didn’t think you had a heart, Reyes.”

“Beats not having a brain,” she volleyed back.

“So what’s the plan?” Jesus asked, rolling his eyes.

Diana huffed out a breath. “Weasel hasn’t lawyered up yet, but he isn’t cooperating. I want to give him one more chance before ratcheting up the pressure.”

Brendon met her gaze and folded his thickly muscled arms across his broad chest. “Am I that pressure?”

“What do you think?” Diana gestured to the viewing room. Through the one-way mirror they could see their suspect nervously prowling around the edges of the room.

“Shifters don’t like to be caged in,” Brendon said.

“I’m betting they like their personal space, too. David and I will make him a little uncomfortable before you go in,” Diana said, then glanced consideringly at Maggie. “And you. Two werewolves are bound to make him even more nervous.”

“Why not me?” Rafe asked, noticeably taken aback by her choice.

Diana glanced between the two of them. “You both have a stake in this, but I think Maggie might throw him more. Call it a gut feeling.”

“I’m good with it, Diana,” her friend said. “I hate waiting. It’s time I had more skin in the game.”

Diana gave a nod. “All right. Let’s do it. David you take the lead.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Weasel spun around as Diana and David walked in.

“I told you that I got nothing to say.”

“Sit,” Diana commanded, and jabbed her finger at a table and four chairs placed in one corner of the room.

Weasel’s gaze skittered uneasily between them, but did as instructed.

After he was seated, David wheeled himself in front of Weasel, trapping him. Diana took a seat on the other side of the table and slouched in the chair while David tossed out the first question.

“How did the blood get on your sneakers?”

Hands hanging loosely between his widespread legs, Weasel shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “I cut myself.”

“It’s not your blood. In fact, the tests tell us it matches the blood type from one of the murder victims.” David lifted the folder on his lap, took out a photo of the decomposed and rat-eaten bodies, and handed it to the shifter.

Weasel’s beady eyes shot wide open and his nose started to twitch. His hand trembled as it held the photograph, but he faked bravado. “Someone made them lunch meat, but not me.”

He carelessly tossed the photo onto the table and Diana picked it up. “Nasty business, but I guess you would know. You were there.”

“I wasn’t—”

David slammed a hand on the table, the sound echoing in the tight confines of the room. “Bullshit, Weasel. The blood type is a match. The DNA tests are going to confirm it belongs to one of the pieces of lunch meat, as you called them.”

“I had nothing to do with it—”

“Let’s say we believe that you didn’t do the actual killing. But you were there. Why?” David pressured.

“It was an abandoned building. It’s what we do,” the shifter replied with shrug, a little tighter and more anxious than before.

Diana tipped her head, feigning mild curiosity. “You’re a…what? Were-mouse? Were-hamster?”

With a challenging snarl, he said, “Make no mistake. I’m no pet rat or timid little mouse.”

David chuckled at the man’s pique. “Oooh, I’m terrified.”

Weasel’s control slipped. The front of his face morphed into a weasel’s pointy snout, whiskers, and a hint of reddish brown fur. “Don’t push me,” the shifter warned, an odd, squeaky rumble beneath his words.

David beamed him a chilly smile. “What are you going to do? Bite my ankles? Is that how you killed those two?” He jerked his hand at the photograph on the table.

The shifter let out a weird gurgling noise as his transformation continued. When he spoke, his voice was pitched higher and squeaked like a rusty hinge. “You don’t want to mess with me, gimpy. Besides, any idiot can see it wasn’t a bite that did in those two taggers.”

“Really? You don’t think it was a bite that killed them?” Diana asked in a bored tone.

Weasel jerked, realizing he might have made a mistake. Hunching his skinny shoulders, he morphed back to his human form and shrugged. “I mean, what do I know? I wasn’t there. I just took a guess.”

“Ah,” David said, and made a show of carefully examining the photo. “Hmm. I don’t see it. What did you spot that made you take that guess? ”

Weasel wrinkled his pointy nose as he looked at the photo. “If you can’t see it, you’re blind.”

“See what?” Diana asked, still playing ignorant.

Smiling slyly, Weasel lifted a surprisingly slender index finger and wagged it at them. “No way will you get it from me. Maybe you should check with your wolf friends.”

Diana grinned inwardly. He was making it too damn easy. “Huh. Maybe we should.”

She exchanged a look with David and he wheeled himself to the door. She joined him, and they went out into the hallway just as Brendon and Maggie came out of the viewing room.

Diana gave Maggie’s arm a reassuring rub. “Tag, you’re it.”

…

“Watch and weep,” Maggie said, flashed a grin, and strode into the interview room, Brendon at her heels.

Weasel jumped up from the chair, letting out a nervous stream of squeaks and grumbles. They quickly boxed him into the narrow space between the table and the wall.

He wrung his hands and bounced between the desk and the wall and the corner, eyes glued to his feet, deliberately ignoring them. His nose twitched and his snout shifted in and out as if he was having trouble controlling it.

“Hello, Howell,” Brendon said, using Weasel’s real name. The alpha wolf’s voice rumbled from deep in his broad chest.

That sound of it awoke something in Maggie. Something primal. It tightened the muscles of her body and sent a shiver through her bones. She battled her reaction, but Brendon didn’t make it any easier when he stripped off his denim jacket, showing off the muscles exposed by a polo shirt that strained against his chest and arms. At the vee of chest exposed by the neckline, a hint of scar was visible. Weasel’s gaze dipped to it for a brief moment before it veered off again.

“No ‘Hello’ for me, Howell?” Brendon asked, tossing his jacket on the chair and folding his arms across his chest, making the powerful muscles of his biceps look even larger. Maggie swallowed…and smelled the sweat that broke out on Weasel’s face.

The rodent bowed his head subserviently, and mumbled, “I live to serve, Adalwolf.”

Maggie shot a puzzled glance at Brendon, who calmly explained, “It means ‘noble wolf.’ A title of respect.”

“I do respect,” Howell said anxiously, bobbing his head up and down amid his squeaks and grumbles of complaint. He shot only half glances at them, as if afraid to make eye contact.

Maggie had always believed eyes were the window to the soul. Maybe Weasel feared what the alpha would see in his.

Brendon grinned, displaying a glimpse of sharp canines. He eased into the chair in front of Weasel, blocking that route of escape. “Rodents like Howell use the term in the hopes we wolves won’t gobble them up,” Brendon said as Maggie took the seat on the other side of the table as they had planned.

“Not true, Adalwolf. Not true,” Weasel replied, but continued with his anxious motions and sounds, his gaze still averted.

“Sit,” Brendon commanded, and the weaker shifter immediately complied. “The lady here—” he waved his hand in her direction—“she’s going furry in a month, thanks to Brad Jefferson and his sick games. She’s not very happy about that. Maggie’s my friend, so I’m not happy, either. Not happy at all.”

Weasel’s squeaks went up an octave.

Jerking high the hem of his polo shirt, Brendon revealed his nasty scars and growled, “Jefferson did this to me. He will pay for that. You will too, Howell.”

Weasel’s beady eyes went wide. He turned to her, pleading for understanding, his dark gaze filled with fear. “I had nothing to do with either of those things!”

Brendon scooted his chair forward until his knees bumped Weasel’s, making the little man jump and squirm. But Brendon was too close to avoid. “Prove it,” he growled.

The acrid scent of terror filled the air, almost making Maggie gag.

“I swear, Adalwolf! How can I prove—”

“You know what Jefferson is planning, Howell. I know that. You can’t claim not to be responsible. You could have stopped him. You’re as guilty as he is.”

“I’m not—!”

“You saw him kill those two kids,” Maggie jumped in. To her surprise, a hint of a growl rumbled through the words.

“No! I—”

She cut him off sharply. “You were there.”

“Tell us why,” Brendon demanded.

“They’ll kill me!” Weasel keened, and wrung his hands. His voice was a high-pitched squeal, almost hurtful on the ears. His nose twitched madly, and his face shifted completely as his control eroded.

“Who?” Maggie asked, her tone sliding into a soothing “good cop” mode.

At Weasel’s prolonged silence, Brendon answered for him. “The Rat Reggies.”

“Reggies?”

“Leaders.”

She rounded on the were-rodent, feigning shock. “You betrayed your own pack leaders?”

Weasel’s eyes goggled and his head shook violently back and forth. “No! No, I didn’t. I just brought Jefferson information. Nothing more. I have no idea what he plans to do!”

“Does he plan another attack?” Brendon asked, unconsciously rubbing at the scars on his chest and abdomen.

“I don’t know.”

Weasel’s pupils contracted and even more of him shifted into his rodent form.

“You’re a shitty liar, Weasel,” Maggie said with disgust. “You
do
know. I’m betting Jefferson made you promises about what you’ll get once he’s in control.”

The shifter said nothing, but his body was going haywire.

Brendon’s green eyes were beginning to glow, and he started to morph, his face elongating into a muzzle and his teeth growing pointier. He leaned forward until the tip of his nose shoved into Weasel’s face. “Relax, Weasel. You don’t have to worry about the Reggies.” His voice was menacingly deep and full, like the bark of a big canine, as he said, “Once I’m done, there won’t be enough of you left to eat.”

Weasel whimpered and squeaked. And when Brendon released a deep-throated snarl and licked his face, he wet himself.

“You’re mine now, Weasel. Wherever you go, I
will
find you.”

“No, Adalwolf. Please,” Weasel pleaded. “I’m innoce—”

“Jefferson is threatening my pack. Putting my wife and child in danger. I cannot, will not, allow anything to happen to my people. Choose. You’re either with me, or against me.”

Weasel started shivering so violently Maggie worried he might shake right out of his skin. He did. His human form shifted to the reddish-brown fur of his rodent self.

Maggie’s gut twisted, and a low, uncontrolled, rumble came from deep within her, shocking her to her toes. Brendon gave her a pleased look and a wolfy grin.

Weasel shit himself, filling the air with the smell of his rank defecation.

Brendon jerked away, waving a hand in front of this face. “Damn, Weasel. What have you been eating? Those vandal kids?”

“Did you snack on those victims, Weasel?” Maggie asked, horrified. “Is that why their blood is on you?”

“I didn’t eat anyone! Jefferson ripped their throats open and left them for the rats,” Weasel shot back, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain attempt to quell the quaking of his body.

Brendon shifted back even farther from Weasel’s stench and restored his fully human form. “Finally, some progress.”

“Why did he kill them?” Maggie asked, needing to understand the reason Jefferson murdered the two taggers.

With no hesitation or deceit, Weasel said, “They desecrated his lair. They deserved to be punished.”

“What about Jefferson’s attack on Brendon? And his plans for the Reggies?” she asked, wanting to confirm their theory about Jefferson’s motive.

“It’s not just him. Jefferson’s only one of them,” Weasel replied, squirming around on the chair.

“One of whom?” Maggie asked with a frown.

“The leaders.”

Brendon leaned forward again, the tension evident in his big body. “Leaders of what?”

Weasel hesitated for a long moment, and Maggie was sure they’d pushed him too far. He wasn’t going to answer.

Suddenly, Brendon sat back, shock on his face. “A coup,” he said, his expression going stony with certainty. “A half-blood coup.”

Unfamiliar with shifter lingo, Maggie said, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Brendon and Weasel spoke at the same time, confirming her worst fear with a single word.

“War.”