“Who can say? It may be innocent, or it may not. Until we find out who brought the monster here, whether there are any more, and why all the shooting is going on, we should not rest.”
“I know.” Bowman clenched his jaw.
“We have been lucky so far that the monster did not live, but someone shot at us to keep us from discovering things.”
“I know,” Bowman repeated, louder this time. “But I don’t want you going behind my back, digging into things without telling me. I make the decisions about this. Me. Don’t forget that.”
“So then, make decisions.” Cristian’s look was steady. “We cannot sit around and wait for you to discover the answers. The danger is too great—”
Bowman gave up on control. He slammed himself to Cristian and grabbed him by his leather coat; screw being diplomatic. “And you undermine me at every chance—that’s just what you want, isn’t it? To charge out here to make it look as though I can’t handle it. Then you can go back home and tell the Shifters you fixed everything, not me.” Bowman gave him a fierce shake. “You keep it up, and I’ll kill you. I’ll do it now if I don’t like what you say to me, and dump your body in a ravine.”
Rage flared in Cristian’s eyes, but as Bowman’s rapid speech ended, his golden gaze narrowed. “Something has happened to you. What is it? Is Kenzie all right?”
Bowman shook him again. Cristian brought his hands up hard against Bowman’s wrists, and with a single jerk, broke his hold. Bowman went for him again, but at the last minute, spun and walked away, clenching his hands at his sides.
“Kenzie is all right?” Cristian’s voice took on a note of deeper concern. “Tell me.”
“She’s fine,” Bowman said, back still turned. “This is between her and me; none of your business.”
“She is Dimitru pack—it is my business.”
Bowman swung around. “She was. Now she’s . . .” He trailed off. If Kenzie walked away from him, following the mate bond, he’d have to get the mating annulled—by Cristian. And Kenzie would no longer be O’Donnell pack.
Cristian watched him. The trouble with the asshole was that he was smart. He was long-lived, experienced, and knew too damned much.
“She has felt the mate bond with another,” Cristian concluded.
Pain flared. “I said, it’s none of your business.”
“But it is. She is my niece, my blood.” Cristian pressed his hands to his chest. “She is also my foster daughter. I raised her. Everything about Kenzie is my business.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bowman said in a hard voice. “Yes, she found it with someone else. She’ll go. End of conversation.”
“It is not that simple.”
“Yeah? No shit. Now, can we get on with looking for whatever it is you found?”
Cristian continued to hold his gaze. Bowman finally growled and stalked away, across the cement floor of the arena and out the other side.
“Not that way,” Cristian said at his shoulder. The man could move fast. “What I found is here.”
He pointed down a hill and started in that direction. Bowman gritted his teeth and followed.
They came out into a flatter part of the woods, where the trees thinned slightly and mud proliferated. The snow of the day before had only dusted the ground here, and today’s thaw had turned it into a mess.
Cristian pointed out two sets of footprints, both in boots with heavy treads, good for traction in the cold. Two people had stood here talking to each other, then they’d parted ways. The larger set of prints went up the hill to the right, the smaller set down to the left.
“The larger set belonged to a heavier man,” Cristian said. “His boot prints, you see, are deeper, much deeper. Or he was carrying something heavy. The second man is lighter, and walks more quickly, with a longer stride.”
“Good observation, Holmes,” Bowman said dryly. He might not be up on the latest literature, but he knew that character.
Cristian did too, and slanted Bowman a look. “I am trying to help. What are your deductions?”
“Two men met and walked away from each other. Hunters. Hikers. Friends with a fetish for screwing in the woods.”
“Human, by the scent,” Cristian said. “Which set would you like to follow?”
“The larger man.” He was likely the greater danger, and as much as Bowman wanted Cristian out of his life, if Cristian got himself shot, Kenzie and Afina would make Bowman’s life hell—more than it already was.
“Very well,” Cristian said. “We will look and meet back at the vehicles in one hour.”
“Fine.” Bowman didn’t bother with more formality. He turned his back and walked off, following the boots up the hill.
* * *
Bowman made it back to where they’d parked the motorcycles before Cristian did. He contemplated taking off and leaving the older man behind, but he leaned on the seat of his Harley and waited.
The forest was quiet, the tall trees regal against the half-clouded sky. The scent that Bowman simply called woods tried to soothe him, but Bowman’s nerves were jangled. Hurt lingered behind where he’d pushed it, wanting to come out and batter him.
Cristian didn’t keep him waiting long. “My trail, perhaps not surprisingly, went to Turner’s,” he said as he approached Bowman. “Something is very wrong in that clearing, and I would like to know what.”
So would Bowman. “Mine went to a road,” he said. “Someone had parked a pickup there. Something like an F250 by the spread of the tires and depth of the tracks.”
Cristian gave him an ironic smile. “Impressive, Holmes. Anything else?”
Bowman took what he’d found on the trail out of his pocket and wordlessly handed it to Cristian.
It was a charm, a large one, from a necklace or some such, made of solid silver. The design looked Celtic—not the same as the Celtic knot that adorned Shifter Collars, but similar. The silver was old, softened by time; not tarnished, but not bright and shiny either.
Cristian sniffed it. “This is Fae.”
“Yep.” Bowman folded his arms against the cold. “Just lying in the woods, in the mud, about halfway up to the truck.”
Cristian continued to study it. “I would swear that the two men standing in the clearing were human.”
“They were. No scent of Fae anywhere. And yet, the guy in the big boots dropped it. I found it right beside his footprints.”
“Or it was lying there and had nothing to do with him.”
“The ley line is over there.” Bowman pointed to the left, away from the arena. “But I’ve never heard of any gates in it. No standing stones in this woods.” Standing stones often contained an entrance to Faerie. “I doubt a Fae popped out, went for a hike, dropped a piece of silver, and ran back home. We’d smell a trail like that.”
Cristian scowled at him over the charm. “Then what are you suggesting?”
“That a human had this thing in his possession.”
“A human, meaning Turner?”
Bowman nodded. “Why not? If he has studied Shifters as thoroughly as he says, he’s come across the ley lines and the Fae.”
“What is your idea, then?” Cristian asked. “Turner, in his zeal to find out about Shifters, stumbles across a piece of Fae jewelry and passes it to a large man who drives a pickup? Who drops it along the way as he leaves the woods? I think you had not enough sleep last night, Bowman.”
Bowman reached for the charm. He wanted to yank it away, but as much as he’d wanted to hit the man earlier, he knew that starting a fight with Cristian wouldn’t help anything. It might make him feel better, but it wouldn’t do any good in the long run.
Cristian relinquished the silver piece without fuss. “Maybe Turner does not know exactly what it is,” he said.
“And maybe gave it to the other guy as payment for something—like shooting at us the other night? Or killing Serena?” Bowman studied it. “Nothing a Fae makes is free of magic, is it? This thing could have leapt out of the other man’s
pocket, trying to stay near the ley line, maybe.”
“And you picked it up?” Cristian asked, eyes wide. “I am wrong—you are a very brave Shifter.”
Bowman ignored his needling and shoved the charm into his pocket. “It’s important. I want to ask”—his throat closed up—“Kenzie what she thinks about it.”
Damn it, he couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t let her go. Life without Kenzie would be one long road of emptiness.
Bowman closed his fist in his pocket, the charm still inside it. It burned his hand, calling to the tiny piece of Fae magic all Shifters had inside them.
“We should take it to Turner,” Cristian said, watching Bowman. “To see how he squirms when he lies about it.”
“Kenzie knows a lot about the Fae. I want her opinion.” Bowman smiled a feral smile, taking refuge from pain in thoughts of violence. “Then, yes, we’ll go make Turner eat it.”
* * *
“Damn it, Gil, will you call me?” Kenzie growled in her tenth voice mail at him. “You can’t drop a bombshell like this on me and then not answer.” She closed her eyes, taking a tighter grip on her phone. “I wanted to say this face-to-face, but I’m just going to tell you. I don’t care what you said. I’m staying with Bowman, even if it kills me. You’re not Shifter, so you should be all right. I’d appreciate it if you’d just forget all about the mate bond.”
The buzz in her ear told her the connection had cut off before she’d finished the message. Kenzie banged the phone to the counter in frustration.
Gil must be at work, patrolling the roads, catching suspects, bringing them in to jail. He had a job, after all. He might have turned his phone off so he could get on with it.
No, this was too important. Kenzie looked up the number of the police station in Marshall, where Gil worked, and called the main switchboard.
“I need to speak to an officer there, Gil Ramirez,” she said to the woman who answered. “Is he there? Or can I leave him a message?”
“I’m sorry,” the woman answered. “Who?”
“Ramirez. First name Gilbert. I don’t know what rank he is, but he’s a uniformed officer.” Surely the police department wasn’t so large that the operator wouldn’t know who Gil was. He was pretty memorable.
The woman sounded hesitant. “There’s no officer by that name here. Are you sure you called the right police department?”
“Yes. No. Do you know where I can find him?”
“Ma’am, I know every officer in Marshall, Mars Hill, and all towns in this area. There’s no one named Gilbert Ramirez. I’d know.”
“Oh.” Kenzie stilled, cold flowing through her. “I guess I made a mistake.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, you take care of yourself, ma’am. I have another call.”
She hung up, leaving Kenzie standing in the middle of her kitchen, stunned, clutching the phone in her slowly lowering hand.
If Gil Ramirez wasn’t a police officer in any town around here, why had he been in a Marshall patrol car at the roadhouse the day after it was attacked? Wearing a name tag that said “Ramirez”? With access to the computer database linked from the car? How had he gotten all the information on Serena? And the reports on the forensics on the shell casings found in the woods?
Shit.
Kenzie had always realized Gil was more than an ordinary human. She’d thought his explanation that he was a shaman answered her questions.
But now her heart squeezed in chilling worry. Who the hell was he, really? And why had he come here last night giving her all that crap about the mate bond, making her insane with heartbreak?
Her thoughts whirling, Kenzie flung herself out of the house, forgetting to grab a coat against the cold. But who cared? She strode along the main road through Shiftertown, breaking into a run as she headed for the bottom of the hill and the small house there.
Pierce Daniels, the Guardian, opened the door to her knock. “Kenzie?” His golden Feline eyes widened. “You all right?”
“No, I’m not. I need a favor. Can you get into the Guardian Network and look someone up for me?”
“Sure,” Pierce said, surprise changing to concern. “Come on in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“What do you mean, he’s not there?” Kenzie sat cross-legged on the chair next to Pierce and pretended she could understand the cryptic script scrolling up the dark screen of his computer.
Shifters weren’t allowed the top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art computers, but that didn’t stop the Guardians. In any case, they preferred old-style, no-frills boxes that booted up to show C:> and nothing else.
The Guardian Network encompassed all Guardians across the world and contained a database so vast and detailed it would make any spy network have a nervous breakdown. The Guardians programmed it in an ancient Celtic-Fae language, so though Kenzie could now see a screenful of writing, she couldn’t read it.
“He’s not there.” Pierce touched the screen, tracing lines of flowing script. “We have no record of a Gilbert Ramirez—not your Gilbert Ramirez anyway. There are plenty of humans with the same name, but none claiming to be police officers in Marshall, or even living in the area, and no one who matches his exact description.”
“Son of a . . .” Kenzie rubbed her temples. “I liked him. I trusted him. I invited him into our home, for crap’s sake. Bowman’s going to shit a brick.”
A small voice said from the front door. “Well, we knew he wasn’t human.”
Ryan stood on the front porch, peering in through a crack of the unlocked door. He wouldn’t barge in, even though most cubs were given leeway to go wherever they wanted, as long as they were courteous. Ryan already understood enough about territory to not try to enter until invited.
“Come on in, Ryan,” Pierce called. “What are you talking about, kid?”
Ryan wiped his feet as he’d been taught and walked into the house, shutting the door against the cold. He came to Kenzie’s side to study the computer screen with her. Kenzie draped her arm around him and gave him a quick, fierce hug, deliriously happy she wouldn’t have to leave him.
Ryan didn’t mind the hug, and he patted Kenzie’s knee. “I was walking home, and I saw you run in here. The man who calls himself Gil isn’t human,” he told Pierce. “Pretends to be, but isn’t. Smells all wrong.”
“He’s human with something else in him, you mean,” Kenzie said. “He told me he was a shaman.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “He’s playing you, Mom. Or is using a glam. I guess it didn’t work on me. He’s not right.”
Pierce’s red-brown brows went up. “Really? Wow. Out of the mouths of cubs . . .”
Ryan patted Kenzie’s knee again. “Want me to tell Dad for you? He might get less mad at me.”
Kenzie shook her head, her emotions spinning. “No, I’ll do it. It has to be me.”
Ryan opened his hands in a very grown-up gesture of resignation. “All right. If you must.” He looked up at Kenzie. “You look terrible, Mom. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” Kenzie caught him in a hug again, crushing him to her. Nothing could be wrong as long as she was holding her cub; the adorable boy who was the joy of her life. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Thanks, Pierce. If you find any information on this guy, will you get in touch right away? Come on, Ryan. Let’s go home.”
* * *
Bowman stopped the motorcycle in front of his house and killed the engine, but remained in place, straddling the bike.
He knew Kenzie was home. Her Harley was in the driveway, complete with her helmet. He could also feel her presence inside—he knew she was in there, waiting for him.
The thaw today had rendered a stunted snowman Ryan had built in the yard into shapeless lumps of white. Bowman’s feet were damp and cold, the only thing that made him haul his leg over the bike and walk up into the house.
Kenzie was cooking, humming as she stirred something on the stove. Bowman realized, with a start, that it was lunchtime. After his strange night and lit
tle sleep, he’d lost track of the hours of the day.
Ryan was setting the table. Three plates, three settings of silverware, three glasses. It was to be a family meal.
“I made my grandmother’s stew,” Kenzie said without turning around. “Nice and warm on a cold day.”
Her voice was bright, but Bowman heard the tremor in it. He was tempted to back out of the house and go elsewhere, but Ryan grinned at him. “Better stay and eat it, Dad. Mom’s been cooking up a storm, and if you don’t stay, she might throw it at you.”
She would, and Bowman knew it. He slid off his jacket and dropped it on one of the sofas in the living room.
“It’s almost ready,” Kenzie said, still not looking at him. “Make sure you wash your hands, Ryan.”
“I will. You too, Dad.”
Bowman leaned on the post between living room and kitchen, feeling as though he’d just stepped into a stage production of a family play. He had no doubt Kenzie was doing that on purpose.
Ryan came to Bowman, grabbed him by the hand, and towed him down the hall to the bathroom. Ryan kept up a running talk as they bent over the sink about what he’d done during the sleepover with his friends. Bowman listened in silence, liking to hear his cub rattle on.
Ryan handed his father a towel, and they went out together to the kitchen table.
The food did smell good. Kenzie dished it out at the stove, her grandmother’s recipe for a spicy beef stew and dumplings. She’d told Bowman once that humans in Romania had a similar dish with about twenty different vegetables in it. Kenzie’s grandmother didn’t include all the veg, because Shifters preferred meat, and a lot of it.
Kenzie carried the steaming, shallow bowls to the table and handed each to Bowman, who, following his usual ritual, passed one to Ryan, then to Kenzie as she sat down. Bowman reached for his fork to start on his, but Kenzie held her hands over her bowl and closed her eyes.
“The blessings of the Goddess be upon us and this meal,” she said.
“Blessings of the Goddess,” Ryan echoed.
Bowman said nothing. Kenzie opened her eyes and smiled at him.