No Humans Involved
Page 64
She wouldn't think that. But she'd ask questions, probing and worrying, exactly what he didn't want.
"Do you think they're connected to the other things?" I asked. "Your visions? Your sensing?"
"I've thought about that, but I don't see how. Maybe they're just" he shrugged, "images I saw once that made an impression subconsciously."
"Do you want to go somewhere, maybe get a coffee, talk about it?"
He blinked, as if startled by the very suggestion. Maybe even taken aback. Then he shook his head. "We have to meet Hope."
That was all he said. No "maybe later," not even an "I don't want to talk about it." All day I'd been fighting a mounting frustration, pretending I wasn't just a bit disappointed with the way things were going. Last night had been special. Cliched, yes, and an odd choice of words to describe a night spent hiding from an S and M cult and running through rat-infested tunnels, but I really felt that shared experience meant something.
I'd been saying that a lot lately. Meant something. Coming to L.A. meant something. Touching me all the time meant something. Talking to me about his duties as Alpha and the dangers of a relationship meant something. Drawing my picture meant something. But I was beginning to wonder whether I was just seeing what I wanted to see.
WE MET Hope. She'd done some research on missing children. The results were not encouraging.
In a city the size of Los Angeles, kids go missing. Most are not the sort whose pictures ever appear on milk cartons and transport trucks. As Jeremy said, these would be the children the group had targeted.
Next, we mulled over Eve's proposal. Was there a way to uncover the bones without "satanic cult" being splashed across the six o'clock news? Hope would think about it. Jeremy probably could have asked Elena the same thing. But had he called Elena, she or Clay-if not both-would have been on the next plane out. As far as they knew, we were conducting exactly the sort of investigation Eve had groused about-reading books, researching news articles and canvassing safe supernatural contacts.
AT 4 P.M. we found ourselves at Botnick's shop again, preparing for another break-and-enter. Hope had asked to come along, on the chance she'd pick up some chaos vibes and help us unearth any occult evidence we'd missed.
She stood guard at the parking lot entrance and I watched from within the lot, in case anyone stepped outside while Jeremy reopened the window behind the trash bin.
"Done," he said as he walked up beside me.
"More of a challenge for you this time, I hope?"
His brows shot up. "Challenge? Heavens, no. Why would I want that? I'm a responsible Alpha, and as such, I hope all such dangerous endeavors are as straightforward and risk-free as possible."
I smiled, put my hands against his chest and lifted onto my tiptoes. Helowered his head, getting close enough for me to reach.
"Speaking of challenges," I muttered.
"Speaking of risks," he murmured back.
I met his gaze. "I'm willing to take them. Whether you are is, I suspect, another matter."
He hesitated, and I knew I'd guessed right.
"It's not-" he began.
"Okay, it looks like-" Hope's voice, across the lot. "Uh, sorry. I thought I heard voices."
"You did," I said, stepping away from Jeremy. "We should get inside while it's clear."
GETTING INSIDE wasn't the only thing made more difficult by daylight. Although the windows were smoked glass, anyone peering in could see us. But the alternative was to wait five hours.
Hope had contacted Karl earlier and hinted that his skills might be needed, but she'd pretended the occult case was her work assignment, not mentioning Jeremy or me. Jeremy seemed reluctant to get Karl involved. I could chalk this up to Jeremy enjoying the "challenges" of doing it himself, but knowing his feelings about Karl, I suspected there was more to it.
"I'll start in the office," Jeremy whispered as he adjusted his gloves.
"Can-?" Hope began, then pulled a face and reached for her cell phone. "Sorry. I'm supposed to be investigating crop circles. Thankfully, I can write a crop circle story in my sleep." A glance at the phone. "Oh, it's Rona Grant. Should I-?" She glanced at us.
"Go ahead," Jeremy said. "Perhaps she has something.
She didn't. Hope kept the phone a half-inch from her ear, volume jacked, so even without werewolf hearing, I could listen in.
Seemed May had asked Rona to follow up on whether any of those contact names had panned out. Hope strung her a story with the ease of a professional huckster, insinuating that we were indeed making use of those contacts, when we'd dismissed the lot of them yesterday. She probed around the subject of Botnick-nothing overt, just leading questions that might have gotten Rona talking about the cult leader, but obviously the woman had no interest in steering us down that seedy path. So Hope promised to keep her in the loop and hung up.
"As I was going to say, can you spare Jaime to show me those dissected bits?" Hope asked. "Not that I have a prurient interest in seeing dried-up body parts, but you were wondering whether they were taken from someone who was already dead or someone they helped get that way."
"And you'll be able to tell. Jaime? Would you rather take the office?"
"Dried bits don't bother me."
WE CREPT to the storage room. Just inside the door, Hope stumbled. I went to catch her, but she brushed me off, regaining her balance herself. She turned, hands out, fumbling, as if dazed. Her face was white, her eyes wide and unseeing.
"Do you think they're connected to the other things?" I asked. "Your visions? Your sensing?"
"I've thought about that, but I don't see how. Maybe they're just" he shrugged, "images I saw once that made an impression subconsciously."
"Do you want to go somewhere, maybe get a coffee, talk about it?"
He blinked, as if startled by the very suggestion. Maybe even taken aback. Then he shook his head. "We have to meet Hope."
That was all he said. No "maybe later," not even an "I don't want to talk about it." All day I'd been fighting a mounting frustration, pretending I wasn't just a bit disappointed with the way things were going. Last night had been special. Cliched, yes, and an odd choice of words to describe a night spent hiding from an S and M cult and running through rat-infested tunnels, but I really felt that shared experience meant something.
I'd been saying that a lot lately. Meant something. Coming to L.A. meant something. Touching me all the time meant something. Talking to me about his duties as Alpha and the dangers of a relationship meant something. Drawing my picture meant something. But I was beginning to wonder whether I was just seeing what I wanted to see.
WE MET Hope. She'd done some research on missing children. The results were not encouraging.
In a city the size of Los Angeles, kids go missing. Most are not the sort whose pictures ever appear on milk cartons and transport trucks. As Jeremy said, these would be the children the group had targeted.
Next, we mulled over Eve's proposal. Was there a way to uncover the bones without "satanic cult" being splashed across the six o'clock news? Hope would think about it. Jeremy probably could have asked Elena the same thing. But had he called Elena, she or Clay-if not both-would have been on the next plane out. As far as they knew, we were conducting exactly the sort of investigation Eve had groused about-reading books, researching news articles and canvassing safe supernatural contacts.
AT 4 P.M. we found ourselves at Botnick's shop again, preparing for another break-and-enter. Hope had asked to come along, on the chance she'd pick up some chaos vibes and help us unearth any occult evidence we'd missed.
She stood guard at the parking lot entrance and I watched from within the lot, in case anyone stepped outside while Jeremy reopened the window behind the trash bin.
"Done," he said as he walked up beside me.
"More of a challenge for you this time, I hope?"
His brows shot up. "Challenge? Heavens, no. Why would I want that? I'm a responsible Alpha, and as such, I hope all such dangerous endeavors are as straightforward and risk-free as possible."
I smiled, put my hands against his chest and lifted onto my tiptoes. Helowered his head, getting close enough for me to reach.
"Speaking of challenges," I muttered.
"Speaking of risks," he murmured back.
I met his gaze. "I'm willing to take them. Whether you are is, I suspect, another matter."
He hesitated, and I knew I'd guessed right.
"It's not-" he began.
"Okay, it looks like-" Hope's voice, across the lot. "Uh, sorry. I thought I heard voices."
"You did," I said, stepping away from Jeremy. "We should get inside while it's clear."
GETTING INSIDE wasn't the only thing made more difficult by daylight. Although the windows were smoked glass, anyone peering in could see us. But the alternative was to wait five hours.
Hope had contacted Karl earlier and hinted that his skills might be needed, but she'd pretended the occult case was her work assignment, not mentioning Jeremy or me. Jeremy seemed reluctant to get Karl involved. I could chalk this up to Jeremy enjoying the "challenges" of doing it himself, but knowing his feelings about Karl, I suspected there was more to it.
"I'll start in the office," Jeremy whispered as he adjusted his gloves.
"Can-?" Hope began, then pulled a face and reached for her cell phone. "Sorry. I'm supposed to be investigating crop circles. Thankfully, I can write a crop circle story in my sleep." A glance at the phone. "Oh, it's Rona Grant. Should I-?" She glanced at us.
"Go ahead," Jeremy said. "Perhaps she has something.
She didn't. Hope kept the phone a half-inch from her ear, volume jacked, so even without werewolf hearing, I could listen in.
Seemed May had asked Rona to follow up on whether any of those contact names had panned out. Hope strung her a story with the ease of a professional huckster, insinuating that we were indeed making use of those contacts, when we'd dismissed the lot of them yesterday. She probed around the subject of Botnick-nothing overt, just leading questions that might have gotten Rona talking about the cult leader, but obviously the woman had no interest in steering us down that seedy path. So Hope promised to keep her in the loop and hung up.
"As I was going to say, can you spare Jaime to show me those dissected bits?" Hope asked. "Not that I have a prurient interest in seeing dried-up body parts, but you were wondering whether they were taken from someone who was already dead or someone they helped get that way."
"And you'll be able to tell. Jaime? Would you rather take the office?"
"Dried bits don't bother me."
WE CREPT to the storage room. Just inside the door, Hope stumbled. I went to catch her, but she brushed me off, regaining her balance herself. She turned, hands out, fumbling, as if dazed. Her face was white, her eyes wide and unseeing.
