Howling For You

Page 7

Patrick beamed at me, surprise in his eyes that faded to suspicion when he caught sight of Jeff.
“Fallon. What are you doing here?”
“Patrick, this is Jeff Christopher. He’s a member of the NAC and a friend of the family’s. Can we come in? We need to talk. It’s Pack business.”
He looked confused, and rubbed his hands on his towel before moving aside to let us in. “Sure.”
We stepped inside, and Jeff closed the door behind us. The interior of the cabin was pretty, the hewn-wood walls exposed, the furniture made of logs and covered in plaid fabrics. Fishing equipment hung on the walls beside antique posters advertising vacations on the Great Lakes.
Patrick put the towel on a table and crossed his arms. “What’s this about, exactly?”
“We don’t have time to be subtle, so I’m going to get to it. The crown is missing. The evidence suggests you took it.”
The weight of the accusation seemed to actually push him, and he took a step backward, his gaze switching between me and Jeff. “I’m sorry—you think I stole the crown? The Pack’s crown?”
“Did you?” Jeff asked, with hostility he hadn’t bothered to mask.
“No, I didn’t.” He looked at me. “I told you I had no interest in the crown. And I sure as shit wouldn’t steal something that didn’t belong to me. Is this because we talked about the initiation?”
“It’s because we have video of you coming back to the house. Breaking in, and then leaving again.”
Patrick closed his eyes and was quiet for a very long moment. “Damn it,” he finally said. “I knew that was going to cause trouble. Knew it, and ignored my instincts.”
He gestured toward a set of coats and jackets that hung on the opposite wall, and at my nod, walked to the black jacket he’d worn last night. He reached into the pocket, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves.
The same leather gloves he’d taken off when he’d first arrived at the house.
“I must have dropped one, and didn’t realize it until we’d nearly gotten into the city. They were my father’s, and I didn’t just want to leave it there.” He looked at me apologetically. “I just thought it would be easier if I didn’t wake anyone.”
So he didn’t have to see me again, he meant.
Jeff didn’t care about the reason; he wasn’t buying the excuse. “So you maintain you came back to the house and broke in to retrieve a leather glove.”
Patrick glared at Jeff. “I don’t maintain it. That’s exactly what I did.”
“According to our video, you’re the only one who came into the house or left,” I said.
“And you have cameras on every door and window?”
I glanced at Jeff, who shook his head. “Just the front door.”
“There you go. I may have been the only one in and out of the front door, but clearly someone else came in and out of the house. Look, I’m sorry the crown’s missing. I’m sure that creates a political shit-storm for your family. But you’ve got the wrong guy.” He gestured to the room. “Do I look like I’m getting ready to take over the Pack? Does this look like I’m getting ready for a coup d’etat? I’ve got food in the oven, for god’s sake.”
“What about this?” I pulled the scrap of velvet from my pocket, held it in my outstretched palm.
He leaned forward to look at it. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s from the cushion that held the crown,” Jeff said.
“And what’s that’s got to do with me?”
“It was in your hotel room at the Meridian.”
“My hotel”—he began, then trailed off. A flush darkened his cheeks. “Ah. This is . . . awkward.” He cleared his throat, looked at me apologetically. “When I got back to the hotel, I had a drink at the bar. I met someone. I didn’t plan on meeting someone, but it happened.” He paused. “I didn’t go back to my room, if you know what I mean.”
I was going to start referring to the last twenty-four hours as the Night of a Thousand Humiliations.
Jeff, however, wasn’t humiliated. He was pissed. “You reject Fallon Keene and then go off with some bar skank?”
We both turned to stare at Jeff.
“Jeff.”
“What? I don’t care if he’s a York or Keene or Old McDonald. He needs to learn some damned chivalry.”
Patrick had at least eighty pounds on Jeff, but that didn’t stop Jeff from taking a menacing step forward.
“Whoa,” Patrick said, lifting his hands. “You’ve got the wrong idea. Fallon’s the one who wasn’t interested, not me.”
Jeff’s brows perked up. “Oh?”
“Hey, idiots, we have a missing crown,” I reminded them, ignoring the sudden grin on Jeff’s face. “Can we get back to that?”
Patrick looked at me. “The point is, I wasn’t in the room.”
“It was booked under your name,” Jeff said. “They knew you’d checked in and out. If you didn’t stay there, who did?”
Emotions cycled across Patrick’s face, from denial to confusion to anger. “Tom,” he finally said. “I gave the room to Tom.”
“Who’s Tom?” Jeff asked.
“The driver,” I said, as the weight of truth settled around us.
Patrick shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that to the family. Put us in that kind of position. Create that kind of danger for us.”
“Maybe he isn’t doing it to the family,” Jeff quietly said. “Maybe he’s doing it for the family. To get the Yorks into power.”
Patrick shook his head. “My father’s sick. He doesn’t have the energy, and he’s not interested in the crown.”
“He doesn’t have to be interested,” I said. “Maybe Tom is interested enough for the both of you.”
Patrick wanted to deny it; that was clear in his face. But he worked it out, considered, and ultimately nodded.
“I told him he didn’t need to go to the city with me. But he offered, wanted to come. It was a big deal, he said, for me to have an opportunity to meet Fallon Keene. I guess it was an opportunity for him.”
“Where is he now?”
“He went into town for supplies.”
As if on cue, a car door closed outside.
“How do you want to handle it?” Patrick asked.
“Get him into the house. We’ll have an easier time handling him in here than if he’s tramping around Wisconsin.”
Patrick nodded. I slipped into the kitchen, and Jeff stayed in the living room, backing into a corner on the far side to block any effort for Tom to slip outside again.
The door opened and Tom stepped inside, a bag of groceries in hand, fresh snow on his cap and shoulders. “Got the goods, boss.”
He looked up like prey scenting predator, probably recognizing the foreign magic that permeated the cabin.
Patrick stepped into the room. Jeff moved to the front door, blocking it with his body.
Tom took one look at the room, and his eyes went cold.
“Tom,” Patrick said. “They’re here to talk to you. They say you have the crown.”
Tom’s eyes flattened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stepped into the room. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it should be.”
He looked at me dismissively, then turned his gaze to Patrick again. “That crown should be yours. You deserve it. Should have it. Your family’s older. Worked harder. Got more to show for it.”
Patrick looked completely bewildered. I didn’t think anyone could fake that kind of surprise, so I scratched him off as a potential accomplice.
“You’re talking about treason,” Patrick said.
“I’m talking about what’s right,” Tom insisted, jabbing his index finger into the air like it punctuated his words. “You know who should be ruling the Pack? You. Not Gabriel fucking Keene.”
I moved closer to him. “Where is it, Tom? Where did you put the crown?”
He looked at me, lip curled. “What, Gabriel can’t fight his own battles? Has to send his little whore to do it?”
Light and magic burst through the room.
Jeff shifted, a tiger emerging from the cloud of magic where a man had stood, twelve feet of white and black fur and muscle. He opened his mouth and roared, ivory teeth bared, the sound vibrating the glass in the windows.
I took another step forward. “Here’s the thing, Tom. That’s Jeff Christopher, one of Gabriel’s favorite shifters. He’s a good friend, and he doesn’t really care for insults. And I don’t think he’s eaten in a few hours.” I glanced at Jeff. “Hungry much?”
He growled ominously.
Tom glanced between us, then grabbed the nearest piece of furniture—a tall shelf—and pushed it over toward us. Glass and wood and knick-knacks hit the floor with a crack, as Patrick and I jumped back to avoid the fall.
Tom bolted, running back out the door and down the driveway. Another flash of light and he shifted into a lean, black wolf, then took off into the darkness.
“Go!” I told Jeff, who burst through the door after him.
I glanced back at Patrick. “Stay here in case he comes back. And call Gabriel—tell him what’s happened.”
Patrick nodded and pulled out his phone, glancing carefully away when I yanked off my clothes and threw them into a pile. The magic of shifting, unfortunately, didn’t do much for clothing. You wanted to keep it, you took it off first.
Naked in the doorway, snow biting at my skin, I jumped . . . and let the magic cover me. By the time I hit the ground, I was in my animal form. A gray wolf, eyes the same amber as my own. My mind stayed human, but my senses were animal. The world opened into smells and sounds that I couldn’t have detected in my human form, including the trail of scent and magic that now led into the woods in front of us.