The secret of the chameleon extract was discovered in Orellana’s papers after his death, whereupon King Carlos I and his mother, the mentally unstable Queen Joanna, outlawed the wearing of chameleon-dyed clothes upon pain of death. The Spanish monarchy made a great play at being morally outraged, but the political reality was, whatever their real reaction might have been, they had to make some gesture of public repudiation or run the risk of being destroyed by the infuriated rulers of the Elder Races.
However, rumors of the existence of such clothing had whispered through the succeeding centuries, in particular when connected to famous unsolved acts of theft. Whether those historical rumors were true or not, chameleon Wyr remained rare—Alice knew of only fifty or so currently living in the continental U.S.
The critically low numbers of chameleon Wyr made the crimes that had been committed seven years ago even more terrible. A small colony of chameleon Wyr had lived in Jacksonville, Florida, where seven of them had been found murdered the week before that December’s Festival of the Masque. Despite a much-televised, nationwide manhunt by several cooperating agencies, the chameleon killer had never been caught.
The silence was broken by the wind that drove ice shards against the building, like a nightmare tapping the windows with skeletal fingers, looking for a way in.
Alice shuddered at the dark fancy and shoved it away. She was surrounded with light and warmth, about to be nourished with good food and drink, and she had been given the unforeseen gift of comfort and companionship during a time that would have been terrible to endure alone. She gave Gideon another apologetic glance and turned back to the open fridge to begin pulling things out at random. She said again, “We don’t like to talk about our Wyr nature to outsiders. Does this have anything to do with our history?”
“You mean the conquistador massacre? We’ve found no evidence that links the present-day crimes to that.” Gideon straightened suddenly. “That’s how you hid from me, isn’t it? In Haley’s apartment. You changed into your Wyr form.”
Alice looked over her shoulder at him, chagrined. “You knew I was there? You didn’t just identify me by my scent when I got to the street?”
He corrected her, “I had the instinct you were there. I didn’t know for sure. I went across the street to the deli and watched the building entrance from there. Where were you hiding?”
“Do you remember the braided ficus?”
He gave her a blank look. “The what?”
“The potted plant that sat on the floor in the corner of the front hallway and the living room.” She fluffed the curls at the back of her neck self-consciously. “I was hiding in the leaves.”
A grin broke across his hard features. “Damn, you were right there. Well done. I remember brushing against that tree when I went into the living room. How big are you in your Wyr form?”
She felt a ridiculous burst of pleasure from his praise. “I’m about the length of your forearm. Maybe smaller if I curl my tail up around my body.”
“Is that why you have so many potted trees in your living room?” He regarded her with such pleasure that warmth touched her cheeks again.
She nodded and confessed, “Sometimes I like to hang out in the trees while I watch TV.”
He burst out laughing. “Of course, why not?” Startled, she felt even more self-conscious. He told her, “Sometimes my wolf likes to hang out and chew on a bone. There are these really tasty beef-basted ones you can get at Wyr Foods.”
She smiled. Wyr Foods was a specialty spin-off of the Whole Foods grocery chain. She shopped there, too. She looked at the items she had pulled out of the fridge. A carton of eggs, a package of bacon, veggies, cheese. All right. It looked like she was making an omelet. Wait, she had a couple packages of hash browns in the freezer. She guessed he could eat the full dozen eggs, plenty of bacon, both packages of hash browns, and have room to enjoy toast as well.
She pulled out an omelet pan, a skillet for the bacon, and a sauté pan with deeper sides for the hash browns. Then she rinsed vegetables for the omelet and began to chop them—onion, green bell pepper, mushrooms, and tomatoes.
Gideon watched her work. She looked calmer and more peaceful already as she moved with confidence around her kitchen. Come to think of it, he felt calmer and more peaceful just watching her. She was a beautiful woman in a wholly understated way. It showed in the graceful movements of her slim hands and the delicate bones of her wrists, in the quiet dignity in her intelligent face and that wholly incongruous, wild thing going on with her rich dark hair.
He loved that hair. He had an insane desire, akin to the wolf’s running fits—he wanted to pull every one of those corkscrew curls out and watch them spring back into place, to bury his face in it and tickle her until her sadness and dignity broke apart and she laughed herself breathless.
His cock had stiffened again. Donkey’s round hairy ass. He took a deep breath and flipped one of the chairs around so he could sit in it backward. It had the benefit of hiding the bulge in his jeans. He crossed his arms across the back of the chair and dangled his bottle of Corona from the fingers of one hand. He took a pull from his drink and drop-kicked his mind back to work.
He said, “Ready to continue?”
Alice didn’t look up from her vegetable chopping. She nodded.
“Do you know about what happened in Florida seven years ago?”
Her mouth tightened. “Every rainbow chameleon Wyr knows what happened in Florida. They were our friends and family.”
Gideon closed his eyes briefly and kicked himself some more. “Of course they were,” he said gently.
She scooped the chopped vegetables from the cutting board into a warmed skillet. They sizzled and the aroma of cooking food filled the kitchen. She said, “Do you think it’s the same killer?”
Why prevaricate? He said, “Yeah, I do. Since the Jacksonville killer was never caught, a lot of the details from those murders were never released but whoever killed Haley used the same methodology.”
She sent him a wide-eyed glance. “Methodology?”
“The killer was very methodical. He masked his scent with a chemical agent that hunters use, and while we don’t have a crime scene report yet on Haley, I’m betting he didn’t leave any fingerprints behind. The Jacksonville killer didn’t either. Each victim died by a stab wound to the heart. It’s very neatly done, then their abdominal cavities are excavated. The organs are always placed outside their bodies in the same pattern.”
Her hand, still holding the spatula, dropped to her side as her face worked. He moved across the room fast to hold her from behind in a firm grip. She whispered, “H-Haley was dead before he did that to her?”
“Yes,” he said in a strong voice. “The killer has some other agenda besides torture. I promise you, Alice. She didn’t suffer.”
She breathed hard, fighting for control. She said, “Thank you for that. I’m all right.”
He released her and stepped back. Not too far, just a couple of steps. Then he stood out of her line of sight, watching her jerky movements as she cooked with his hands fisted at his sides. There was only so much he could do to help, and it was making him a little bat-shit. “Ready for a break?” he asked, hoping she would say yes.
“No.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Please continue.”
“You said your principal, Alex Schaffer, was the one who broke the news of Peter Baines’ death to you and Haley, and he’s also the one who spread the news that David Brunswick had gone missing, correct?” He waited for her nod then continued. “Why Schaffer?”
“After Jacksonville, Alex started a support group for chameleon Wyr. First it was to help process the grief, but over time the group has turned more social. Now we have a potluck on the first Sunday of every month, and some of us get together for brunch on the third Sunday. Sometimes some of us arrange to go hiking, or to go out to dinner or see a movie.”
“True Colors,” Gideon said.
She looked at him in surprise. ?
??You know the group? We keep its existence pretty quiet. There’s a website where everybody can log in and post news, email each other, or invite people on an outing, but it’s privately maintained. It doesn’t even come up on Google searches.”
He told her, “The FBI keeps a file on chameleon Wyr social activities, which includes information on the website. I had a look at it earlier today, but I haven’t had time to read through everything. I didn’t know Schaffer was the founder of the group.”
“Yes, and as far as I know, every chameleon Wyr in New York is a member.”
“Twenty-three,” Gideon murmured.
“I beg your pardon?” Alice handed him plates, cutlery and napkins.
He set the table. “The website has a list of all your names. The group has twenty-three members.” Well, technically the total was now twenty, but he wasn’t going to be pedantic about that when it might cause her more pain. “What brought you to Haley’s earlier?”
“We had planned to spend the evening together. I was going to try to coax her into coming to stay at my place for a while.” He came back toward her, and she handed him the salt and pepper shakers, a bottle of ketchup, and a freshly opened bottle of Corona.
“Did anybody else know you two had planned to get together this evening?” He carried the beer and the condiments to the table.
“No.” She frowned up at him. “Does that matter?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s keep that private for now, okay?” Could withholding the information be useful? He tucked the thought away for further consideration.
“All right.” She slid the last of the bacon out of the skillet, clearly deep in thought. “How did you know to show up at Haley’s?”
He smiled at her. “Why don’t I tell you that later? You may not need a break, but I do. Just until we’ve had a chance to eat.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
He’d lied, but she didn’t appear to notice. He could have talked details about the case and autopsy results throughout the meal and never turned a hair, but he wanted her to relax enough to eat a bite or two. A fresh shock wasn’t going to help her do that.
Because the police had already found David Brunswick’s body in the basement garage of his brownstone, and the killer was in fact exceedingly methodical.
Even though all of the Jacksonville murders were found at the same time, one of the details suppressed by the authorities was that the group had been held prisoner for a while at their enclave. At first the scene indicated a mass murder, but it soon became apparent that serial tendencies were involved, as the killer had ritually dissected one person each day until all seven were dead. The autopsy results confirmed the succession of murders. The report listed the victims by the date of their deaths, and the names were in alphabetical order.
That afternoon, Gideon had looked at the list of group members on the True Colors website. Peter Baines, David Brunswick. The third on the list was Haley Cannes. He had called the school but Haley had already left work.
He thought he might have dreams about moving as fast and as hard as he could to her Brooklyn address only to arrive too late. If only he had pieced it together a few hours earlier, Alice’s friend would still be alive. Maybe Haley would even be sitting down to supper with them.
He helped Alice carry the food to the table. She had cooked a dozen eggs with the sautéed vegetables. The intended omelet became a scramble upon which she had heaped scoops of sour cream and cheese. The hash browns were a delectable brown, and the bacon was so aromatic and crispy, his stomach emitted a loud rumble.
He gave her a sheepish grin and Alice laughed. Then she said suddenly, “Oh, I forgot to make toast!”
He snagged her by putting an arm around her shoulders and redirecting her back to the table. “Please sit and relax. This is more than perfect.”
She frowned at him over the delicate wire-rims perched on her slender nose. “As long as you’re sure.”
He clenched down on an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss her. It wasn’t time.
Not yet, at any rate.
He said, “I’m sure.”
He held Alice’s chair for her. She smiled at him as he sat. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “Eat up. As you can see, I cooked portions relative to your size.”
So she had. He inhaled deeply as he looked at the fragrant meal. Gods above, he didn’t even have to taste any of it to know she was a superb cook. He told her, “This is more heaven than I can remember seeing in one place for quite some time. Please serve yourself something before I get started.”
Her gorgeous cocoa-and-cream skin turned pink with pleasure. “I’m not very hungry but, well, okay.”
She took a little of the scrambled eggs, a slice of bacon, and a spoonful of the hash browns. It was not nearly enough to his critical gaze, but on a night that was so hard for her, it probably would have to do.
She might lose her appetite for even that small amount if she were to realize hers was the fourth name on that website list.
Not that anything was going to happen to her. Not on Gideon’s watch. He would die before he let that happen.
Chapter Four
The Depths
True north.
What the hell did it mean?
Gideon could wish for a little time to contemplate it. For now, though, he shoveled half the contents of each skillet on to his plate, helped himself to a generous squirt of ketchup on the hash browns and set to with enthusiasm.
Those first quick bites were indescribably delicious. Salty meat, rich melted cheese and sour cream on eggs and veggies, and crunchy filling potatoes, all with a beautiful, gentle woman in a warm kitchen on a cold winter’s night. Suddenly Gideon felt happier than he ever thought possible, happier than was even comfortable. The emotion shuddered through him with such fierce intensity his fingers shook as he gripped his knife and fork. He clenched his hands, willing the unsteadiness to stop.
Gideon had been one of Cuelebre’s deadliest dogs of war, the alpha captain that led the wolves, the mastiffs and the mongrels. His brigade had been the most gifted and volatile, the troops on the extreme edge. They had hurtled first into any conflict, not baying, but racing to the battle in an eager, murderous silence. They were the advance scouts, the rangers sent in to places too dangerous for the regular troops, the sentries that patrolled the shadowed corners and slipped past enemy lines to take down their opponents from behind.
Gideon had risen in the ranks when he still had the thoughtless athleticism of youth and a strong body that could go on forever just because he asked it to. Now that boundless, youthful energy had turned to disciplined maturity, and his blond hair had faded like an aging golden retriever’s pelt. He exercised and trained hard to maintain his muscled physique, stamina and quick reflexes. Each battle he fought and won, he did so knowing that his youth might have gone but he was still at peak condition, and it was not yet time for the alpha to lose his place at the head of the pack.
He was not one of the strange, immortal Wyr who had come into existence in the dawn of the world. Wolf Wyr had a life span of around two hundred years. If something didn’t bring him down first he expected to see another good eighty, eight-five years. With discipline and constant training, he could have spent another fifty years in active combat duty before age would have forced him to consider other options.
Here in the gentle sanctuary of Alice’s kitchen decorated with pretty sunflowers and sage green cabinets, with her sensitive, bright hazel gaze resting on him thoughtfully, and the kindest, most generous and delicious meal anybody had ever cooked for him spread out before him, he could finally admit the truth to himself about why he had quit—he had grown tired.
The tips of her slender fingers touched the back of one of his hands. “Are you all right?”
Riehl ducked his head. “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “Thank you for supper.”
“You’re welcome.” The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip. She looked as if she wanted to say something else,
but she lowered her head instead.
They ate supper in a silence that was surprisingly comfortable. When Alice finished the food on her plate, Gideon took the serving spoon and offered her another helping of the scrambled egg dish. She raised her eyebrows but nodded with a smile. He watched with deep pleasure as she ate it.
His cell rang with Bayne’s ringtone, the Bee Gee’s “Stayin’ Alive”. He ducked his head further to shovel the last of the hash browns into his mouth even as he dug into his pocket for his phone. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s my boss. I’ve got to get this.”
The shadows came back into her face. He hated to see that. She said, “Of course you do.”
Gideon strode into the living room and clicked on the phone. “Yeah.”
“Heard you found your witness,” said Bayne.
“Yeah, I’m still with her,” Gideon said. He started to pace. “We’re at her place. What’s up?”
“We’re wrapping up at Haley Cannes’ apartment.” The gryphon said to someone else, “Pack it up. I want someone to comb through every file on the hard drive, and check out every contact on her email list.” Then his voice came back stronger, “You find out anything from Alice Clark?”
Hell yeah, a whole slew of new things, but most of them weren’t any of the sentinel’s business. Gideon turned to pace another lap. Alice was cleaning up the kitchen. She had carried the dishes to the sink. Even though she had a dishwasher, she was running a sink full of soapy water. It looked like she felt the need to do something as well.
Gideon said, “We’re still talking.”
“Call or text if you find out something new. In the meantime, we’ve got a lock on the whereabouts of all the chameleon Wyr who live in NYC. Now that schools have let out for winter break, some are traveling for the holidays. A family of four has left for Arizona, a single parent, her boyfriend and her kid have gone to L.A., and a couple are headed for Miami. We’re checking with the airports to confirm their flights left before the storm shut things down, but assuming they did, that leaves us eleven chameleons still in the city.”