And that annoyed the hell out of her.
'Benton just called,' Ethan announced. 'The missing kid turned out to be a custody case — just as you'd predicted.'
Gwen nodded. 'I'm not usually wrong, you know. I gather he's on the way back?'
'Yeah. He's told me to tell you to stay put. He wants to talk to you both about last night.'
'We can't stay put.' Kat's voice was sharper than she'd intended and earned an amused look from her grandmother. 'We have a house to investigate.'
Ethan nodded. 'I told him as much. He ordered me to wait.'
'And are you going to follow his orders?'
'Nope.' He took a sip of coffee, his gaze distant. 'I get the feeling Janie's time is running out. If we don't find her today or tomorrow, we're not going to find her at all.'
'I feel the same way, wolf.' Gwen sighed and rose stiffly from the stool. 'I've got some packs ready with zombie deterrents and sleep potions in them. I'll just add some stakes, then you're ready to go.'
Ethan watched her walk away. Her hobbling was worse this morning and pain pinched her mouth. 'Why is your grandmother doing this?' he asked once Gwen had gone.
Kat's glance was quizzical. 'Doing what?'
'This. Chasing bad things. Why do it when she's old enough to retire?'
'She's also strong enough to turn you over her knee and paddle your butt for even suggesting such a thing.'
He couldn't help smiling. 'I reckon she'd enjoy it, too.'
Kat's own smile was fleeting. 'You'd better believe it.'
Ethan sipped his coffee and studied Kat. There was strain around her eyes and shadows beneath them. He'd thought they'd settled all their problems last night, but looking at her now, he had to wonder.
'So, why isn't your mother here helping?'
Her expression tightened. 'My mother is dead.'
He hesitated but didn't apologize. He could never understand exactly why people did that, though as a cop, he'd certainly done enough of it himself.
'Did she die on the job?'
She snorted. 'No. She overdosed.'
'Deliberately?'
She raised an eyebrow. 'Does any addict overdose deliberately?'
'Yes.' And far too often for anyone's liking.
Her gaze slid from his. 'I have no idea whether it was deliberate or not. Gwen probably knows, but I've never asked.'
'Why not?'
'Because I barely knew her.'
'Were you young when she died?'
Her smile was bitter, and her hurt swam around him.
'No. I was ten. But she never had much to do with me.'
'Why?'
'Because I was a hindrance to her social life. Gran raised me from the time I was born.'
And if that hurt was anything to go by, she resented the abandonment, if only on a subconscious level. 'And she never tried to help your mother?'
She gave him a long look. 'They have to want to be helped before you can help them. You should know that.'
'I reckon your grandmother could convince a cat to shower if she wanted to.'
'I reckon she probably could. But Mom was her daughter and every bit as strong-minded.'
'What about your dad?'
She looked away again. 'I never knew my dad.'
He hesitated. Her stance was still and straight, and the emotions that swam around him thick with pain. Yet he had to ask the question, if only because he sensed this could explain why she was the way she was — strong and independent, yet oddly vulnerable. 'Why not?'
She looked at him. Tears touched her green eyes but were quickly blinked away. 'Because my mother sold herself to feed her habit. My father could have been any one of the dozen men she'd had on the day of my conception.'
It was a familiar enough story — many addicts fed their habit that way. He took a sip of his coffee, then said, 'It sounds as if you know who her clients were that day.'
She snorted softly. 'I do. I stupidly asked her once. She gave me a very detailed account of the possibilities.'
A charming woman, from the sound of it. 'And you never tried to track any of them down, just to see?'
She looked at him, her expression closed, but her eyes filled with sudden anger. 'Why should I? Mom was nothing more than a body on which they rutted to relieve themselves. What difference would it make knowing which one of them was my father?'
So they were back to that again. 'Kat — ' She held out a hand. 'I've heard all the bullshit, Ethan. I don't want to hear it again.'
'I told you the truth last night.' His voice was amazingly calm, given the anger beginning to surge through his veins. 'Don't keep pushing for what we both know isn't there.'
'You told me part of the truth,' she shot back. 'As much you thought I needed to know, nothing more.'
'Because there is nothing of importance left to say.'
Nothing except the reason his world, his heart, had shattered so completely.
Pain rose like a tide, threatening to engulf him. Even now, all these years later, that night still haunted him. The image of Jacinta, deliberately throwing herself down those stairs… He shuddered and finished his coffee in one long gulp.
It didn't drown the images of all the blood. On her head, between her legs…
'I'll wait in the car.' He slammed the cup down on the railing and stalked toward the vehicle.
Kat joined him about ten minutes later. She threw a pack onto the back seat, then fastened her seat belt. He started the car and headed for the mountains.
'I'm sorry,' she said after a few minutes.
She didn't sound sorry. 'Forget it.'
His voice was still brusque, and she sighed. 'Ethan, how old were you when you met Jacinta?'
He barely glanced at her. 'I told you last night.
Seventeen.'
'And she was your first?'
He smiled grimly. 'Hardly. When puberty hits, so too does the power of the moon.'
'But she was the first woman you'd really fallen for, as opposed to just mating with?'
'Yes.' He hesitated. 'Why?'
She regarded him for a second, her green eyes serious. 'If she was the first woman you felt anything for, how do you really know she was it , rather than just a rather heated crush?'
'She wasn't a crush.' His voice was tight with the anger that rolled through him. 'Drop it, Kat.'
She sighed again. 'You are really the most stubborn and irritating man.'
'Takes one to know one.'
Amusement swam around him. 'I hardly think you can call me a man.'
He couldn't help smiling, despite the anger. 'Well, no.'
'Will you answer just one more question?'
His smile faded as he flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. 'Maybe.'
'Why do you say you hate kids so much when you're obviously close to your niece?'
He relaxed a little. At least this was a question he could answer with practiced ease. 'I don't hate kids. I just don't want any of my own.'
'Why?'
