You've Got Tail (18 page)

He whined more and I felt like a coward. Whatever lay under that board, he obviously thought it important. “Fine,” I huffed.

I glanced over to the closed bathroom door and decided to act. I got down on all fours and pulled at the board. With very little prying, it came loose. The board was a little less dusty than its surrounding. I hadn't been the first person to find it. It was too dark to see inside the small space, but I steeled myself and stuck my arm in, patting around with my hand. Cold metal chilled my fingers. The object wasn't so big I couldn't maneuver it around, and after a few moments, I managed to pull it out. It was a box; more exact, a cash tin with a locked front.

Maybe Chavvah had put something in the box that would explain all the mysteries. I would find her, we'd catch who killed Judah, and Babel could leave. I felt sick to my stomach.

“What'cha got there?”

I startled at Ruth's question. I'd been distracted by morose thoughts and hadn't noticed her return. “Uhm, a box I found.” Stating the obvious.

“Ooo,” she cooed. “I wonder what's in it.”

“I don't know. Maybe money or something.” I didn't really think so, but since I hadn't told Ruth about Judah, I didn't want this to be the way she found out.

“Found money's always the best. That's why my husband and kids always make sure they check their pockets before giving me their laundry.”

“There's a locked latch on it.”

“No problem.” She pulled a bobby pin from the back of her hair. A little strange considering she was wearing it down.

I raised my brow in question.

“This?” She sniffed, grinned, and held up the bobby pin. “You just never know when one of these buggers might come in handy.”

“No friggin' doubt,” I said, impressed when she had the lock popped in seconds. I made a mental note to add bobby pins to the other junk in my purse.

Ruth pushed the box toward me. “You found it. You get the honors.”

I rubbed my hands together in anticipation, then carefully opened the box as if it was booby trapped.

Inside lay a folded diner check, a wad of twenties, and a necklace with a gold heart charm. Okay, so there'd been money and jewelry, but I couldn't help but feel as though it was a little anticlimactic. I unfolded the diner check and let out the breath of was holding. There was a series of numbers and letters. They looked really familiar.

I cast a sideways glance at Ruth, who hadn't spoken since we'd exposed the contents. “Ruth?”

“Huh?” My voice snapped her out of it whatever la-la land she'd drifted off to. “Oh look, hon. There's money, and what's that you've got in your hand. Anything good?”

She hadn't mentioned the necklace, but I let it slide. “I'm not sure. It's one of those checks that you take orders on, but nothing on it looks like bacon and eggs.” The sequences were a weird pattern of 150000715JT, 175000725RC, 200000719GH, then 250. It had been scribbled hurriedly and I could barely make out the last zero.

“That's Judah's handwriting, I'm pretty sure.” Ruth chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I wonder if it's bank numbers, or some covert offshore account, or passwords to something?”

“I think you've been watching too much television.”

Ruth huffed. “Well, I'm just saying.” She ran her delicate fingers through her soft brown hair.

I chuckled. “Okay, Robert Langdon. Sometimes numbers are just numbers, not the da Vinci code.”

“Ha! Don't think I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not saying it's anything sinister, just kind of neat. Nothing really happens in Peculiar.”

Forget drifting, Ruth permanently resided in la-la land.

I
'd gone on a walk for some fresh air after Ruth left. Just up the street from Johnson's General Store, I saw Babel's tiny car—the one I'd seen him in the first day I arrived in Peculiar. He'd been driving a truck the last couple of days, so I wondered if the car and the truck were his, or if he'd borrowed one or the other from someone. Who would the car belong to? Sheila, maybe? It pissed me off, completely and unreasonably. I hated feeling so possessive over someone who wasn't mine, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to beat his ass for making me want him.

I looked around expectantly for Babel, then mentally kicked myself for being disappointed that his podunk ass wasn't anywhere to be seen. For no good reason, I crossed the road and started walking toward the car. Okay, there was a good reason, or at least an okay reason. I wanted to see Babel. Hell, I needed to see him. He might not be mine, but I was beginning to think that I was his.

Delbert Johnson, or it might have been his twin Elbert, greeted me before I could get past their store.

“How do?” he asked, taking a long drag from a cigarette. His smile crinkled around his eyes, genuine and bright, and a little mischievous. It was contagious. This was a jolly man and Peculiar could use a few more like him.

“I'm good. You?”

“Fine as frog's hair,” he remarked, tossing his cigarette butt on the sidewalk and dashing it with the toe of his boot. He looked up the street toward Babel's car then back to me. “Enjoy your afternoon.” With a wink, he dismissed me as he went back into the store.

The car was sitting in front of a craft store. As I got closer, I noticed someone occupying the driver side, sort of slumped down. Babel had been in a fight or something earlier—the split lip and bruises had been a flashing neon sign to that effect. What if he'd been hurt worse than he'd let on? He could be bleeding internally, dying alone in a ratty little beat-up car as his coffin. Why did Ruth have to tell me that therians could die just like anyone else?

As I ran the short twenty feet to the car, I made deals with any deity that would listen. If Babel lived, I would give him up completely. I wouldn't interfere with his relationships or try to stop him from leaving town when the time came. I wouldn't be selfish. I would…

The driver-side window was down, and Babel had his head resting against the steering wheel. I stared at his gorgeous, scruffy face, remembering how good those soft whiskers felt against my thighs. He looked so peaceful. I'd heard people get that way when they're going into shock.

I tapped his shoulder gently. “Babe?” I didn't know why I used his nickname.

Twisting his neck sideways, he peered up at me thought a thatch of hair angled across his face, his intense blue eyes red and watery. “I don't know how to tell my parents.”

Crap. I caressed his cheek and he nuzzled his face against my palm like I was a touchstone. “I am the worst person in the world.” He'd been so calm, focused, when I'd told him about my vision earlier, that I hadn't even considered what
knowing
Judah was dead would do to him.

“I'm so sorry.” I opened the driver-side door and knelt down next to him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss the sadness away. Instead, I placed my hand on his leg. The heat radiating from his thigh through his thin, worn jeans made me shiver.

Babel put his palm over my hand. When I tried to pull away, he gripped me tightly. My fingers clenched involuntarily against the firm muscle beneath. The wild look in his gaze was predatory and violent.

“Babel.” I forced myself to relax. I didn't try to move my hand again. “You okay?”

It sounded lame, even to my own ears, but frankly, he was scaring me. I didn't like the feeling. Babel still hadn't answered me, and I fought to keep my free hand from grabbing the handle.

Silently, he stared at me. I looked away when I could no longer meet his stare. His fingers changed, elongated over mine. His palms became thick and rough, scratching the skin on the back of my hand. My pulse raced and my fear doubled.

“Stop,” he growled, his voice taking on a distinctly inhuman quality.

“You stop,” I quipped, trying to sound brave. “I'm not the one going all doggy bits.”

“No, but you're making it hard.”

I glanced at his hand, it had become unrecognizable. Like something out of the
Howling
. Beyond that, the bulge in his pants was pronounced. Apparently, I was making all sorts of things hard.

“I'd like to go now.”
Said the fly to the spider.
“Uhm, if that's all right. You know, things to see, people to do…” Wrong cliché. Oy.

Once I'd watched this nature documentary on PBS, and the host, John Somethingoranother, had said that when faced by a wild animal you should hold perfectly still. Don't run. I think he'd been talking about a bear, so I wasn't sure if it would work with a man-beast situation. But I froze like an ice sculpture just in case. Even when his right hand whipped across his body with ungodly speed and fisted my hair, I kept my movement and noise to a flinch and a squeak.

Babel leaned in close, his nose pressing to my neck. He inhaled deeply. The exhalation came out as an agitated rumble. His tongue flicked my jaw.

I released a shaky breath as my lower parts clinched. “Babel. Please don't.” It might have been more convincing if my fear hadn't been mixed with a tinge of excitement and a dose of lust.

He made a chuffing sound right before his hot mouth pressed against my lips. Sirens went off in my brain, but my body responded. Babel's tongue slid along the crack of my lips, forcing them apart. He tasted of maple syrup. Mmmm.

The heat from his skin warmed mine. A swooping sensation rolled in my stomach. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed a handful of his shirt, closed my eyes tightly, and leaned into his chest. I apologized to all the deities I'd made deals with for being a liar-liar pants on fire, then met his kiss with a fevered rush. He let go of my hand clamped to his thigh and wrapped his arms around me.

My tongue brushed a sharp and elongated canine followed by a sharp sting and the salty taste of blood. A coil of nausea unwound its way to my throat as visions of Babel and Judah as children playing ball, sharing meals, and secrets. Babel looked up to Judah like most little brothers. The depth of his grief choked me, and in that moment, I knew I would do anything to take it from him.

So I swallowed it, every bit of his grief. I took it into my body, my mind. I don't know how, or even if it was real, but I could feel the tension leave his muscles. His hands slid up my ribs to my breasts. The coarse pads of his palms took my breath, but the thick, sharp fingernails popped the bubble of fantasy and reality sank in.

I was making out on Main Street in broad daylight with
Manimal
.

When the rock cracked against the windshield, I realized I wasn't the only one to notice.

I scrambled back from Babel with a yelp. Outside the car, Sheila Murphy already had her arm reared, ready to throw again.

“Oh, shit.” I ducked as another rock whacked against the windshield.

“You fucking bitch,” she screamed. “I'm going to kill you!”

“She's goddamn crazy,” Babel muttered.

“Ya think?” Holy crap, and crazy was stalking in my direction. I popped the lock down on the door. Sheila's lips contorted into a maniacal smile.

“Oh, shit,” I repeated.

Tempered glass shattered in all around me in little chunks as Sheila put her fist through the window. I scrambled across Babel's lap to the passenger side. Babel jumped out, and in a single bound, he leaped over the car, landing directly behind the woman trying to tear my head off.

My heart went to my throat, thick and pounding, as she grabbed my ankle and yanked me half out of the car. I screamed, because, well, I was half out of my mind with terror, then kicked out with my free leg and got a lucky strike to her face.

She didn't let go. Frankly, I think it just pissed her off even more. Before she could wrench me completely out onto the sidewalk, Babel wrapped his forearm around her neck, and with his other hand, he snatched her loose from my ankle.

He tossed Sheila like pizza dough, and the woman went flying into the brick wall of the craft store. With another leap, Babel was crouched next to her. Instead of getting up and trying to kick the shit out him, Sheila surprised me. She started sobbing.

Babel took her in his arms, and let me just say, I felt like the world's biggest boob. The woman tried to kill me, for the second time, and Babel was comforting her. I hated him so much.
Hated
him! Maybe I didn't have the right to feel betrayed—we were not going steady, and she'd seen him first, obviously—but he'd really pissed me off .

“Now, now,” I heard him say softly. “Why'd you have to go and wreck my car?”

Not, “why are you messing with Sunny?” Not, “leave Sunny alone!” Or something helpful like that. The bastard was only troubled about his beater.

Sheila cried harder, her mess of long brown hair falling haphazardly across her face. She looked more beautiful, if possible. I hated her so much.

“I heard about Judah,” Sheila said, her voice all choked and gravelly.

A tiny wince of guilt fluttered inside. Very tiny. I'd managed to get my legs to stop shaking long enough to stand up from the car. I used that momentum to walk across the street toward my shop.

“Sunny,” Babel said loud enough to get my attention.

I didn't turn around. I didn't want to see him holding her. They were grieving. Fine. They had a shared emotional bond that didn't include me. Fine. But it didn't mean I had to stick around to watch. Assuming he was watching me go, I waved my hand to let him know I was all right, but kept pace all the way to the door.

Inside the restaurant, I sat on the floor with my back to the wall. I worried for Babel. For a big strapping guy, he had a lot of emotions buried deep. I wasn't so sure I could help him, especially since he'd almost shifted on me. Maybe I was bad for him, and vice versa. Probably Sheila understood him in ways I never could. When I stopped feeling sorry for myself (well, not completely), I cracked the front door and took a peek.