Winter Wolf (19 page)

“We can’t find her,” Richard said. “That doesn’t surprise me—she’s a secretive one and vanishes when she wants. This was taken last year, before she went underground again. That’s why we were looking for you. It’s one thing to have Mr. Desmond’s phone number, but another to get him to actually talk to us.”

“Lisa’s always been a bit of a bitch like that,” I muttered, snatching her photograph. Whoever had taken her picture had caught her unaware, when she was smiling sadly. She hadn’t changed all that much, for all she looked older than I did. “Tell me why I have to be the one to call him.”

It wasn’t a request; it was an order. Judging from their startled expressions, the two brothers realized it. They exchanged a long look. After a moment, Alex nodded.

Richard shrugged and he let his breath out in a long sigh. “It’s about what happened to Scott. We want his advice.”

“Was Scott a part of your pack?”

Once again, the brothers stared at each other. Richard shook his head. “No, but it’s a matter that impacts
all
Fenerec.”

A plague would impact all of the Fenerec and make them desperate in the progress. If I called my father, I would have to acknowledge everything I had left behind and the people I didn’t want to remember.

Nicole Thomas didn’t have a family. I’d been careful when I had created her, when I had paid a great deal of money to insert falsified information into public records, all so I could look like a real person. And I had killed off Nicole Thomas’s relatives. Family was a burden I hadn’t wanted to bear.

I spat curses, grabbed my cell phone, and fought the urge to slam it on the floor. Richard’s mouth dropped open and Alex backed away from the table, as if hoping the extra distance would spare him from my temper.

Instead of throwing the broken phone, I set it back on the table with purposeful care. A temper tantrum wasn’t going to help anyone, even though I was sorely tempted to break something.

Maybe the damned book had been right after all. If I really wanted to help the Fenerec, I’d call. There wasn’t a choice, although I had no idea what my father could do to help.

He was doomed like the rest of them.

Chapter Twelve

It took me over an hour to work up the courage to do what needed to be done. The entire time, Richard and Alex waited in silence.

“Where’s the phone?” I rose, careful to make sure my bathrobe stayed secured. Both men—no, Fenerec—stood, and Richard gestured to the office.

I led the way, slumping into the executive chair, muttering things under my breath. I’m sure they heard me, but neither said a word about the foul words coming out of my mouth.

I wondered if under their charismatic surfaces they were like Scott, full of the need to protect and dominate. My father hadn’t run with other Fenerec. I remembered that much with crystal clarity. I hadn’t even known what he was until my sister had decided she wanted to become one too. By then I had learned to fear them, though I couldn’t remember why. Maybe my fractured memory was why neither Richard nor Alex really frightened me, not in the way car accidents did.

Drumming a beat on the edge of the desk, I glared at the phone, trying to steel my nerves. The sooner I picked up the handset and dialed, the sooner I’d be done. A few years hadn’t erased the phone number from my memory, but I hesitated. Had it changed? I glanced at Richard. “The number?”

“You don’t know it?” he asked, but pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to me.

“Why the hell would I know the number?” I huffed as I read the numbers from the card. It was different than the one I remembered, although the area code matched. I considered before dialing the one from memory.

The phone rang three times. “Hello?” a tired voice answered, male, and both terrifying and comforting in its familiarity.

I pressed the button for speaker phone and gently set the handset down. If I had to speak to my father on the phone, I was going to open the conversation with a salvo before the fireworks started. My rough voice had a nice snarly quality to it, masking my unease. “How long have you flea-ridden fluffballs been sick?”

Fluffball was tame, as far as insults went, but with one word, I transformed the Fenerec from dangerous animals to something less frightening in my imagination. My disrespect would probably land me in trouble—if my father decided to hunt me down and make me pay for my attitude. Until then, so long as I acted like I wasn’t afraid of him, I would manage my way through the conversation.

Rolling over at his command wouldn’t happen, not anymore. Not after all I had done to free myself from the Desmond family.

I heard breathing on the other end of the line, but my father didn’t say a word. Maybe my mother had learned the silence trick from him, but I didn’t fall for it. I waited for an answer to my question. I grabbed a hotel pen and twiddled it between the fingers of my left hand. I made several rotations before I flung the pen across the office. Richard and Alex jumped as it skittered across the carpet.

I made a beckoning gesture, pointing at the pen. Richard obediently picked it up and handed it to me. Grabbing the hotel pad, I wrote a note and showed it to both of them.

Do not say anything.

They nodded in acknowledgment of my command.

“Who is this?”

I snorted my laughter. “I asked first.”

Toying with my father wasn’t the brightest idea I ever had, but I was going to stay on top for as long as I could manage.

“Almost five years.” My father didn’t sound pleased.

Five years was a lot longer than I had expected—I hadn’t been a wizard for very long then. I wrote another note to Richard and Alex:
How many years has Scott been a Fenerec?

Richard held up his hand, fingers and thumbs splayed.

Five years. I felt my brows rise. Richard looked puzzled, as did Alex. Alex grabbed the pen and pad out of my hands and wrote a note of his own:
You knew about the plague?

I waved him off.

“Are you going to answer my question?” There was a brief moment of silence, then my father growled.

“My name is Nicole Thomas,” I replied, keeping my tone cool and collected. If my father wanted to lose his temper, it was better for me. It meant I controlled the conversation, and he knew it. That’s how my disaster of a family had always operated: He or she who stayed cool the longest ruled the roost.

It was a game I had almost always lost. But I wouldn’t this time.

“Nicole,” my father breathed my name, all evidence of his anger gone.

“I took two Fenerec as hostages,” I announced with a smug grin. “They have something they’d like to ask you.” With that, I gestured to Richard and Alex and rose from the chair, taking back the pen and pad of paper.

On it, I wrote:
Admire my very dangerous finger gun. Line is yours; tell him what you need.

Richard almost spoiled everything by laughing, but he choked it back. I made a finger gun with my left hand and pointed it at him. Alex cleared his throat in warning, and his brother reclaimed some of his dignity.

“Mr. Desmond, it’s Richard Murphy,” Richard said, sinking down on the executive’s chair, spinning it so he could watch me and my finger gun while speaking towards the phone.

“Mr. Murphy, you’re a
hostage?
” my father asked in disbelief. “You? Don’t tell me that the other Fenerec is your brother.”

“She hijacked my car, at gunpoint, stating she’d aim between the eyes if anyone gave her any trouble. Now she’s taken over my hotel room, wearing my bathrobe, and she’s still pointing a gun at my head.” Richard sounded far too cheerful for what was coming out of his mouth. I struggled not to start laughing.

Alex fell prey to his brother’s antics, doubled over in his effort to keep quiet.

“I think you need to tell me what is going on, Richard. From the beginning. This Nicole Thomas has taken you and your brother hostage? How, and why?”

Richard gestured for the pen, which I handed to him, along with the pad:
How much do you want me to tell him?

Ignoring the ache in my right hand and the pull of the bandages against my injuries, I wrote:
Everything.

Maybe I’d learn something from what Richard told my father.

“It began about two weeks ago, when the first of the L.A. pack died from plague. Osmund thought the worst was over, but a few days ago, three of his youngest died at a mall. Miss Thomas was an unfortunate witness to one of the deaths.”

“You, Richard, belong to a
Canadian
Fenerec pack. How does this involve you?”

Richard was Canadian? I considered that, wondering the same thing my father had asked. What were Canadians doing in American Fenerec territory? While I didn’t know a whole lot about Fenerec, I had always believed they were territorial. My father certainly was.

“Osmund and I share stakes in this matter, Mr. Desmond. Anyway, shortly after the deaths at the mall, someone started hunting Miss Thomas. There was one confirmed attempt on her life, and a second one my brother and I thwarted. Last night, when she was walking two dogs, she was hit with a taser and kidnapped. Alex and I witnessed it and tailed her. We managed to get in front of them and cut them off, but unfortunately, the fools crashed their car.”

My father made a thoughtful sound. “I got a call from the Inquisition earlier today about couple of bodies found in the desert by a trashed car. They wanted to know if I had anything to do with it. You killed them?”

I froze, my eyes widening. The
Inquisition
had called my
father
?

Richard sucked in a breath. “No, sir. Wasn’t us. If they’re the kidnappers, Miss Thomas threatened them but didn’t fire. I had smelled blood, though.”

Since neither of the brothers seemed alarmed by the mention of the Inquisition, I relaxed a little. I said, “Not long after they snatched me, the driver shot one of his friends in the chest and shoved him in the trunk. He got out a few hours later.” I leaned against the doorframe.

“Idiots,” my father muttered. “So Miss Thomas turned the gun on you and took your car—and you—to Las Vegas? This is a Las Vegas number, yes?”

“We have one of the penthouse suites at the Venetian,” Richard said. His gaze caught mine, then he winked at me, making a gesture for me to keep quiet. I nodded. “She drove us in this direction, so I offered the use of our room. She accepted. I’ll remind you, Mr. Desmond, she does have a gun pointed at my head.”

“You are a Fenerec, Richard,” my father growled. “She is a young woman. You could have taken the gun away without giving her more than a bruise.”

“I do not hit women, especially ones capable of breaking through a car window with her fist. And anyway, he hit her. If she hadn’t taken his gun, I probably would’ve shot him myself.”

“I think you better tell me what happened.”

To my shame, Richard obeyed, relaying the events of the night with remarkable detail. My face burned with my embarrassment as he described my haphazard escape from the wrecked car. The factual way he told my father what happened reinforced how stupid my reaction had been. I stared down at my bandaged hand.

“So, this idiot goes to pull a gun on me, and Miss Thomas decides she’s had enough of playing the meek little victim. She latches on to his arm so he can’t get his gun. When he starts hitting her and pulling her hair to get her off of him, she tries her best to bite him and manages to get his pistol out of his pants.” Richard shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. “She points it at him, steady as can be, and thanks him for telling her to shoot between the eyes. She orders me to my car, and I wasn’t going to argue with her. I could’ve taken them, but it wouldn’t have been pretty, and she handled the situation all on her own.”

“Go on.”

“Not much else to say. She ordered us to get in the back, kept her pretty new pistol close at hand, and drove my manual like a pro, bleeding all over my leather interior along the way.”

“And so you let a little girl kidnap you and your brother. Unbelievable.”

“It’s not every day a pretty lady points a gun at my head and tells me to get in my own car. Takes a lot of courage to face down Fenerec. I wasn’t going to belittle her. And maybe I could’ve taken her, but not without her pumping some rounds into me first—or into Alex. She wanted to get away from them. Without her, I doubt you’d be talking to me. You’ve been notoriously difficult to get in touch with lately, Mr. Desmond.”

I made a sour face in Richard’s direction. He shrugged helplessly.

“Well, you have my attention, Richard. What do you want?”

Richard’s expression turned serious. “Is there a cure for the plague, Mr. Desmond? You’re the oldest wolf I know of.”

The silence was chilling, but Richard sat as still as a statue and waited for my father to speak.

“Prayer,” was the answer. “There is no cure for the plague, not anymore. I’m sorry, Richard.”

“No cure?” Richard whispered, his face paling. Then he stared at his brother, his brown eyes anguished.

Alex bowed his head.

Was Alex infected? Judging from Richard’s expression, I guessed he was. Did that mean Richard was also sick I hurried to the desk and grabbed the pen:
Are you and Alex both sick with the plague?

Richard read my note, looked into my eyes, and shook his head. Then he once again stared at his brother.

Only Alex?
I wrote.

A nod answered my question.

I felt sick. Fenerec or not, Alex and Richard had been nothing but gentlemen. They were family; they supported each other, worked together as a team, and seemed to care for each other.

I turned to Alex and stared at him. What set Alex apart from his brother? Why wasn’t Richard plagued?

Alex met my eyes, standing still as I scrutinized him. Deep lines creased his brow. If I hadn’t known he was sick, I never would have been able to guess it. He looked like someone who surfed a lot, with a healthy tan and a lean, muscular frame.

“Is there really no one who can help us, Mr. Desmond?” Richard asked, and there was a faint waver in his voice.

“I don’t like giving false hopes, Richard. I don’t know what to tell you. You can go chasing myths and legends, but you’ll run out of time and be no better for it. And medicine has come a long way since the old days, pup, but that doesn’t mean it has all of the answers.” My father sighed, a long, heavy, and sad sound. “My first wife and pack died from plague. I understand your stakes, but all we can do is wait to see who survives.”

Richard slammed his fist against the desk. “That’s not good enough.”

I jumped back, my heart in my throat. I think I squeaked a little, because Richard looked at me with an apologetic grimace.

Then I did a double-take. My father’s
first
wife? He had a wife other than my mother?

My father made a growling noise. “What do you want me to tell you? If you want to go chasing myths, I’ll tell you what I know, and I’ll even wish you the best on your hunt.” My father didn’t sound very happy with the idea, and I wondered how close his temper was to snapping. “But I’ve walked that road, and it got me nowhere. This won’t be the first or the last time many of the Fenerec will die, and you and I will bear witness to it.”