Later, Beast cleaned boar blood off pelt and out of claws with rough tongue.
Jane said nothing.
I stood and walked back to water, full belly heavy with meat. I drank at water’s edge and stared at water, holding night sky in surface. I thought about Jane. Thought about Leo.
I walked to dark thing that was Leo’s cage inside Jane. Extended claws. And swiped at chain of binding.
I found myself awake near the water, the sun’s rays just peeking over the horizon. I felt . . . incredible. Leo’s compulsion was nearly gone. I could still feel it, like a hard nut cocooned with spiderwebs in the back of my brain, but it was smaller, more compact, less diffuse. A couple more shifts, and it would be totally gone.
I reached up a hand to touch my neck, finding the gold nugget necklace I never took off. Unfortunately, the go-bag was gone. My clothes, my shoes, and my throwaway cell phone were no longer attached to me. The fight with the boar had ripped the go-bag off my neck. It was lost in the brush somewhere. I was a long way from Bitsa and my clothes, which meant I needed to find the gear.
I spent nearly an hour looking for the go-bag, and when I finally found it, it was covered in boar blood. I rinsed the flip-flops off in a nearby bayou, hoping that the morning was too cool to attract alligators, wiped off the throwaway cell, and tossed the rest of clothes into the water. Naked and cold, I walked back to the bike, dressed, and kick-started Bitsa, riding into the city. I stopped at a tiny French Quarter restaurant and had a huge breakfast starting with a stack of pancakes, six eggs over easy, and a rasher of bacon. I’d eaten here before and the waiters knew I was a big eater. I’d overheard them making bets on me. It might be bets about when I’d balloon up with the pounds, or bets about whether I’d order blueberry pancakes or harvest grain. Whatever they were betting on, I always got great service, my teacup was always full, and my syrup was always warm. I tossed three tens on the table when I was done and went home. I needed sleep.
Just before I dozed off, my other throwaway rang. I reached off the mattress and opened my cell. It was Reach. I pursed my lips and said, “How did you get this number?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I sighed and said, “Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question. What do you want?”
“The Kid is okay. He’s good and he’s capable, and in about two hours, he’s gonna knock on your door and tell you who your mole is.”
“You want to tell me now?”
“Nah. Why spoil the Kid’s fun?” The phone call ended.
“Well, crap.” So much for sleep.
But I did sleep, a hard, deep nap. Two hours after the phone call from Reach, I heard a knock at my door. “Coming.” I got up and shook out a pair of sweats that had been lying in the bottom of the closet. They didn’t smell too bad, so I pulled them on and padded to the door. Opened it. Stinky, who smelled of herbal shampoo, was on the other side, his knee doing that shaking thing he did when he had too much nervous energy. He was holding a cup of very strong tea. “Yeah?” I said. I’m not my best on little sleep.
He handed me the tea, which was a nice surprise. I could get used to this. “I know who the traitor is. You are looking for a traitor, right? That’s why the deep background on people you already work with? So I found him. I think. I’m pretty sure. I’ve checked it about a dozen times. So, yeah, I’m sure.”
The Kid was smart. Way too smart for my own good. I sipped the tea, which was so strong it was bitter, the sharp taste only slightly masked by a lot of sugar. I’d have to teach him how to brew tea. I crossed my arms, sipped again, and waited.
“It’s the intel guy. Corporal Joran Stevens. The ex-marine.”
He was talking about Angel Tit. All the pleasure drained out of me, leaving my limbs feeling heavy as lead. “Former. Former marine,” I murmured, thinking, trying to take it in. “There are no ex-marines.” I’d had that “no ex-marines” thing made clear to me early on. Except this former marine had turned against his unit. Stupid, disconnected thoughts. Shock.
Alex had hacked Angel’s e-mail and the evidence was clear, if cryptic. A few months back, Angel Tit had been approached in a Special Forces chat room. Angel had needed money fast. One of his sisters was in trouble with the law and he needed to hire a better lawyer for her than the wet-behind-the-ears public defender the court had assigned. In return for some much-needed cash, he had been asked to provide a bit of seemingly innocuous information about the blood-servants in Leo Pellissier’s household. The information hadn’t been secret, so he had complied. Later, the anonymous person from the chat room needed something else. Then something else. And suddenly Angel Tit was in so deep he couldn’t get out.
The money he had earned hadn’t been that great, but any money gathered by a traitor was enough to get him . . . what? Killed? Kicked out of Derek’s unit? “Print it out,” I said softly.
I turned away and called Derek on my official phone. “Whatchu want, Injun Princess?”
“We need to talk,” I said. “Privately. Can you come to my place?”
“Sure. I’m at Katie’s, watching your boy work on her safe room. Not bad skills for the army. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Fine.” I closed the cell and turned back to Alex. “You did good work. Can you find out the ID of the person who contacted the corporal?”
Alex looked at the screen, pouching out his lips, and back to me. “Maybe. I’ll try. You want everything on him?”
“Yes. I want to know name, banking, family, habits, hobbies, who his pals are, and where he eats breakfast.” Which meant a very deep search indeed. “But for now, go upstairs and shut your door. I need some privacy.” I went to my room and dressed in cleaner clothes. Put on some lipstick. Strapped on a Walther PK380 shoulder harness on top of my T-shirt. The weapon was snug under my arm, but not hidden. I didn’t want Derek to think I was unarmed. I French-braided my hair and tied it with a scrunchy, which was so much better than a string torn from a pocket. I met Derek at the door and held out a hand. “Phone.”
“Why?”
I didn’t answer, my hand outstretched. He put his cell in my hand and I tossed it into my room onto the bed, next to mine, and shut the bedroom door. “We’ve been compromised,” I said. “I want to make sure no one can listen in.”
Derek stood at my table studying the printouts. His face was expressionless, his eyes scanning page after page. At one point, he leaned over the table, bracing himself on one hand. His breathing didn’t alter, but his heart rate went up, the pulse in his neck starting to jump. When he reached the last page, he swiveled his head on his neck and looked at me. Took in the Walther and my stance, which was far too relaxed. “You thought I’d need to be shot, Legs?” I didn’t reply. “I’ve seen you fight Grégoire’s half-human goons. I know what you can do.”
I still didn’t reply, and Derek stood upright, his body at an angle to mine, perfect for drawing a weapon if he was wearing a shoulder holster. But he was wearing a low back holster. He’d have to reach behind and pull forward. I’d noticed his weapon was snapped in. Mine wasn’t. I’d have plenty of time if needed. Beast rose in me, staring out through my eyes.
“You can take a lot of abuse,” Derek said. His cheek started a tic and his pulse increased again. He looked at the gun under my arm, taking in the unsnapped safety strap. “You think you can take me?”
“Are you asking me to hurt you because your boy is a spy?”
“Angel’s no boy. He’s a man. He’s faced combat. He’s—” Derek stopped, his breath fast. Betrayal hurt. This betrayal more than most, because Angel had been in Iraq with him. They had been together for a long time.
“He’s your friend,” I said. “He’s in trouble. He should have come to you for help. He didn’t. He’s not happy to
