Shift Work (Carus #4) (22 page)

Technically, I couldn’t divulge any information to a civilian on an ongoing investigation with the VPD, but this was Mel. We went way back. We’d seen each other at our weakest and knew what we’d both survived. Her mind was a vault when it came to any secrets I shared with her.

“It’s going okay,” I said. “A couple dead ends. No pun intended. But, I think I know who did it, and why. I just need proof.” I quickly relayed what I knew about Loretta’s death and the King’s Krank investigation. “I can’t help but feel it’s all connected. The weird overdoses, the KK drug dealer, and Loretta’s murder. I’m just missing the connecting dot.”

Mel nodded. “Seems too coincidental for it not to be connected. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“Why did you demand to see me?” I asked. Mel’s tactics hadn’t changed over the years, she buttered me up for something. Something she didn’t want to tell me, but thought she had to. Since Mel belonged to Wick’s pack, my brilliant mind narrowed down the topic possibilities. None of them good.

Mel shook her head and tsked me. “Is it demanding to ask to see a friend?”

I speared her with my best better-start-talking-now-or-I-walk face.

Mel’s shoulders sagged, and she bit her lip. “Okay fine. We need to talk.”

Obviously. “About what?”

“Wick.”

My spine straightened at the same time my stomach churned. Just as I feared. She wanted to talk about
him
. Was he okay? Had something happened? I swallowed stomach acid. Had he mated with Christine? Were they having skinny little love babies? “What about him?”

“Your decision hurt him.”

I gulped back some more acid reflux before opening my mouth to defend my choice. Mel held her hand up to stop me and shook her head again. Her soft blonde hair brushed her slightly-flushed cheeks.

“I know you didn’t make your choice lightly,” she said. “But I thought you should know the ramifications.”

My muscles weakened, and I slouched in my seat. At the same time, a burning sensation spread across my chest. “I saw him two days ago, he didn’t seem to suffer any
ramifications.
He’s already replaced me.”

Mel glared.

I bit my lip. Okay, so he hadn’t seemed fine, but he also didn’t appear to be wallowing in self-pity, either.

“Christine is a part of the problem,” Mel said.

With a long sigh, I picked up my cappuccino and took a long drink. My shoulders insisted on trying to touch my ears, and no amount of wondrous caffeine seemed to settle the unease circling in my gut.

“Okay,” I conceded. “Hit me with it.”

Mel set her coffee down again and nodded. She squared her shoulders, and her blue gaze softened.

Well, crap.
This couldn’t be good.

“Wick’s wolf has seen yours,” she started. “Wick
and
his wolf chose you.”

“I know that. I dispelled my wolf.”

Mel nodded. “But apparently that makes no difference to Wick or his wolf.”

My brain cells stopped firing. My skin prickled with unease. “What do you mean?”

“They both know the wolf isn’t truly gone, just banished to a different reality to make things easier for you.”

I pursed my lips.

“No judgement,” Mel quickly added. “I don’t think anyone blames you for wanting to separate yourself from that pain. They just wanted you to separate from a different animal.”

“Well shit, Mel. What more can I do? I hoped sending my wolf away would make things easier for Wick, not just myself. I can’t and won’t mate to more than one man.”

Images from Sid’s devious dreams streamed through my head. I shook them away. Not. Happening.

“I know,” Mel said. She stared down at her cup. She had more to say. The deep furrow in the bridge between her perfectly plucked eyebrows told me so.

“Have you mated with Tristan, yet?” she asked.

“No. We’re taking our time.” I folded my arms across my chest, not caring how defensive it looked. Tristan knew how hard trust came to me—how much my past mistakes cast a shadow on the present and threatened my future decisions.

Mel smiled as if she caught all my thoughts. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s patient. But maybe when you’re mated to Tristan, it will make things easier. Maybe then…”

“Honest to Feradea, Mel, if you don’t spit out the rest of whatever it is you have to say, I’ll find your entire shoe collection and burn it.”

Mel sighed. “Wick’s wolf won’t accept Christine, nor anyone else, not when he knows yours isn’t truly gone.”

My stomach dropped as my skin prickled. “So Wick is rendered mate-less until…until what? Forever?”

“Until your death.” Mel hesitated. “It’s not like you’ve neutered him. He can still have relationships, still fall in love, but his wolf definitely won’t. Wick will never have a true mate. At least not right now, and if what I sense through the pack bond is accurate, not ever.”

My stomach dropped as if an invisible weight sank to the bottom. I hadn’t expected this result. I knew I’d hurt him, but prevent him from mating in the future? My throat dried out and started to ache. Wick didn’t deserve this fate.

If my decision had gone the other way, I would’ve left Tristan to the same fate.

Damned if I do…

The aching subsided and gave way to a racing heart. Mel’s words replayed in my head. What she sensed… I straightened in my seat. “You can sense it through your pack bond?”

Mel nodded.

The wheels in my head clanked into place and started turning. “If you can sense it…”

“So can Christine,” Mel finished for me. “And she’s pissed.”

Pain lanced across my face as I clenched my jaw. “Well, I’m certainly not happy about Wick’s wolf, more than not happy, but causing that harlot grief is the least of my concerns.”

“That may change,” Mel said.

“What do you mean?”

“The only thing standing between Christine and her perceived happiness—”

Understanding hit me like a professional hockey defenseman. I stood in Christine’s way. She wanted Wick and believed if I ceased to exist, the Alpha would be hers. She conveniently forgot I’d only recently entered Wick’s life, while she had been around much longer. Had he wanted to take her as his mate, he could’ve done so well before I ever walked, or flew, onto the scene. Unfortunately, morons rarely thought logically. “I’m the only thing she sees in her way.”

Mel nodded along with my changing emotions, expertly plucking the scents from the air. “That’s why I needed to see you,” she said. “I wanted to warn you.”

My lips flattened. Had Christine been behind the mercenary attack? Had she literally become a pain in my ass? My butt cheek throbbed in answer. Or had the attack come from another direction? Lucien-lovers retaliating? The KK drug dealers trying to take out another of Stan’s support pillars?

I sighed. I had too many enemies to definitively say who was behind the attack, but I’d find out.

My beast roared approval.

“Watch your back,” Mel said. Her voice interrupted my mental plans to visit the hospital, then Christine.

I could always corner Christine for a little one-on-one girl chat.

With some even breaths, I managed to calm my racing heart and heated blood racing through my veins. The beast roared at me to “shank the bitch,” and sent images of stabbing stick insects, but I ignored her. In the short time she’d become more vocal, she’d easily surpassed my other feras for saying ridiculous things.

If I took out Christine, it would be with my teeth and claws, not some handmade budget weapon. Sheesh. Beast needed to get with the Team Andy Program.

“You could’ve told me this on the phone,” I muttered into my coffee lid.

“True, but then I wouldn’t get to see my friend.”

“And nag me about my skin care regimen?”

“Please, I gave you up as a hopeless cause long ago.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “No, I wanted to see my friend, talk to my friend, and let my friend know I’m here for her. No text can say that.”

Part of me wanted to correct her. Technically, a text could say all that, but the swelling in my chest blocked the air flow to my voice box and prevented speech. I squeezed Mel’s hand back instead.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“No man is worth your tears, but once you find one that is, he won’t make you cry.”

~Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Left alone to my thoughts made the world spin and enhanced my need to scream. I hadn’t heard from Tristan and after multiple checks of my phone, I’d come to the sad realization nothing was wrong with it. Battery at fifty percent and full signal. Tristan was avoiding me.

I’d been shot in the ass, again. If anything warranted a call, or a pity-text, bloodshed would be it. I could only play the cool and relaxed girlfriend so long.

My beast growled with approval.

Taking a detour on my way home from my coffee date with Mel found me pulling the car into the driveway of Tristan’s upscale Port Moody home.

Time to boil some bunnies and demand answers. Getting out of the car sent bolts of pain down my leg and fed my anger.

Well, try to keep calm
, I told myself.
There might be a reasonable explanation for this.

All sense of being reasonable and calm flew out my mind when the front door opened to reveal Angie scantily clad in only a short, pink satin robe. She held it loosely closed around her moist skin, and made no effort to hide her ample cleavage or smug expression.

Red stained my vision. My gums ached as canines threatened to elongate.

Bite her face
, my mountain lion hissed.

The beast rumbled.

My falcon screeched,
Peck, peck, peck
, over and over again.

I surged forward, beast strong, clutched her neck and slammed her back into the wall. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t struggle. My face contorted, stinging in a pre-shift phase as I fought to prevent a shift. If my gaze was capable of shooting laser beams, Angie’s face would’ve melted off. Instead, she dropped her gaze. My pumping heart slowed a little. Angie finally conceded my dominance to hers in the pride hierarchy.

Destroy
, my beast whispered.

I took in a deep breath. The one long drag of air sent soothing waves down my limbs. She didn’t smell like Tristan. She smelled of moisturizing body wash and burnt sugar from unrequited longing. Despite how it looked, she hadn’t been in contact with Tristan. Not in
that
way.

Another deep breath.

Tristan hadn’t been home in a while. His delicious scent ran stale and faint. My heart picked up. What if something had happened to him? And all this time instead of helping him, I’d been cursing his name and calling him a rat-bag?

“Where’s Tristan?” I demanded, releasing Angie’s neck.

“Not here.” Angie didn’t miss a beat. She straightened her robe and brushed back stray wisps of hair.

“Is he in trouble?”

“Hardly. He’s away on…business. Phoned about half an hour ago to say he’d be home in a couple of days.”

I sputtered. He phoned
her
? Not me? Rat-bag!

Angie’s lip curled up. “Something wrong?”

I growled, and her mouth slackened. “He’s not returning my calls. Do you know why?”

“I told you he would hurt you in the end.”

Truth, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to rip out her eyes with my claws. “He’s not cheating on me.”

Angie tsked. “I said he’d hurt you. I never said how.”

“Do I need to punch the truth out of your mouth?”

She frowned. “He’ll be back soon enough to tell you himself. Don’t expect him today. He’ll be running the new moon by himself. He called to tell me to take lead with the pride tonight.”

Well, damn
. He had wanted to talk to me the other day, but I’d jumped him instead. Hard to have a conversation when you’re busy having multiple orgasms, and I don’t think either of us were capable of speech after. I should’ve let him talk. Heck, he should’ve insisted I let him talk.

Be fair, Andy. You can’t put that on Tristan.

Images from that night flashed through my memory. Ones of us naked, with sweaty limbs entangled, breathing in unison as we moved together.

My heart started to beat faster, and my body flushed with warmth.

Angie cleared her throat.

“I’ll wait to talk to him,” I mumbled.

“Good idea.”

****

At home and miserable, I sat on the couch with an icepack under my ass and flicked through the television channels. I missed Tristan. Yeah, I was super pissed at him, but I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted his citrus and sunshine scent stuck to my skin and his warm body curled up next to mine.

Instead, I had the equivalent of radio silence.

B&B sessions with Stan were out, and there’d be no karaoke therapy to make me feel better either. The Witches were still not back, and I could’ve used a Ben pep talk right now. Nothing like belting out lyrics to 80s classics to work out my angst.

My pocket vibrated as the small phone shook with vigor. Tristan? Ben? I turned off the television and slouched in the sofa to slide the device out of my pocket. The screen flashed Stan’s name. My heart sank a little, quickly followed with a pang of guilt. My life woes had nothing on Stan’s. I tapped the phone to pick up the call. “Yell-oh!”

A pause. “Yellow?” Stan’s voice crackled.

“Uh, sure.”

“That’s no way to answer a phone,” he said.

“Whatever.” I sat up. Stan’s voice carried something different in its tone, something I hadn’t heard since Loretta’s death. “What’s up?”

“The techies broke into Lo…into the phone.”

“Hot damn! We got something?”

“We got something. I think we found the killer. There’s a voicemail.”

I fist pumped the air. “And?”

“Listen for yourself.” Something shuffled in the background and a static voice carried over the line, presumably from the recording. “I’d like to discuss your research some more. I think you’re onto something. Let’s meet at the warehouse near Main and Powell. Tomorrow. Noon.” The oddly familiar voice clicked off, followed shortly by an automated woman saying the date and time—the message had been left a few days before Loretta’s death.