you. You wouldn't have to go through this surgery.' She could keep her body intact.
She let her gaze fall to the table, to where her hands lay folded over one another. 'What exactly are you saying?'
As if I hadn't already spelled it out. 'I can cure you. I think I can cure you.' It was insane, but it was also a shred of hope. That hope burned in me.
'By turning me into a werewolf,' she said, her voice gone flat.
'Yes. I haven't really thought out the mechanics of it, but I'm sure—'
She held her hand in a calming gesture, and I stopped. 'Do you know that this is a cure? Have you tried it? Do you know anyone who's tried it?'
No, but I didn't want to say that. 'I'll have Dr. Shumacher talk to you. The data's still a little fuzzy because it was secret for so long, but she has the case files—'
Again, Mom stopped me.
'The surgery's scheduled for Friday. It's all settled.'
'You can change your mind. You have a few days to think about it.'
For a moment, she looked like she was going to argue. She wore a familiar, pensive expression. Like I was about to do something stupid and she was going to let me, so I'd learn a lesson. I was trying to save her, and I was the one who felt like an idiot.
'I'll think about it,' she said finally.
I wanted Mom intact, healthy, strong. I knew this would work. I
'I'll come see you Friday. Okay? Call me if you need anything.'
'I'd like that.'
'I love you.' It came out desperate, like I wasn't going to have another chance to tell her.
'I love you too.'
We hugged. She felt small in my embrace. For the first time in my life, she felt frail.
Dad walked me to my car. We went slowly, enjoying the warm evening.
'How do you think she's holding up?' he said.
I shrugged. 'I was about to ask you. I have no idea if she's really being that positive or just putting on a brave face.'
He chuckled. 'You'd think I'd be able to tell the difference, wouldn't you?'
'Dad, I may have said something that upset her. I think that lycanthropy might cure it. The cancer, I mean.'
He leaned against my car and gazed up the street, not really looking at anything. 'I can't claim to know too much about it, but that sounds like a cure that's not a whole lot better than the disease.'
I gazed heavenward. I was only trying to help. 'I know, I know. But—if things get bad, if the doctors can't do anything…'
He shook his head. 'We haven't gotten there yet. It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine.'
My eyes were stinging then. 'Okay. I'll see you later, 'kay?'
We hugged, and he watched me drive away.
On the way home, my cell phone rang.
'Kitty, it's Tom.' Tom was one of vampire Mistress Alette's people. Chauffeur, valet, human servant—and a grandson many generations down the line. Part of her family in every sense of the word.
'Hey, what's up? Did Jenny get in okay?'
'That's why I'm calling. Her flight came in, but she wasn't on it.'
The question had been rote; I'd asked it fully expecting a positive response. No alternative was possible. My stomach froze.
'What do you mean she wasn't on it?'
'The airline says she didn't check in at the gate. She never got onto the plane. We can't find her.'
'I walked her to security myself. She couldn't have not gotten on that plane. Maybe the airline made a mistake.'
'I suppose it's possible. Does she have a phone?'
'No, she doesn't. There has to be an explanation. Maybe I gave you the wrong flight number.'
'I'll make another pass through the airport. Maybe give Ahmed a call.' Ahmed was the closest thing the D.C. lycanthropes had to a leader. She might have found her way to him. I had to hope something like that had happened, that she'd made it to D.C. and just missed Tom somehow.
'I'll try to find something out on this end.' And what happened if she hadn't gotten on the plane? Why wouldn't she have gotten on the plane? 'Let me know as soon as you find out anything.'
'Will do.' He clicked off.
There had to be a good explanation. I went home and made some phone calls.
The airline showed that Jenny had been issued a boarding pass, but she hadn't checked in at boarding. Her seat was empty when the plane took off. Had she maybe changed flights? Changed time or destination? The reservation person said there'd been no change to her ticket after the boarding pass had been issued. It was like she'd disappeared. I talked to airport security. They said they'd check surveillance camera footage, to find out what had happened. If someone had come after her. That was my biggest fear. Somehow, some way, Carl had found out and gotten to her. It wasn't just possible, it would be easy. But I'd have hoped that Jenny would have enough confidence, enough strength, to scream if he tried to take her.
I called Hardin and tried to report Jenny as missing. But she hadn't been gone long enough. Unless I had any ideas about where to look for her, or who might have information, the police couldn't help. 'Carl,' I said. 'He'll know something.' I told her how to find him.
'I'll see what I can do,' she said, but her tone wasn't encouraging.
I'd been at it for hours, sitting at the kitchen table with a phone book, trying to think of more people to call. Ben came in, dressed for bed.
'Kitty. Stop. There's nothing else you can do.'
'There has to be.'
'You can get some sleep.'
'No, she's out there, she's in trouble.'
'Maybe—maybe she changed her mind.' I stared at him, bleary-eyed. He sighed. 'Maybe she decided not to go to D.C. Maybe she found another way out and thought it was better if no one knew where she was going.'
Maybe. It was possible. 'Do you really believe that?'
He gave a fatalistic shrug. 'I don't know. But there's nothing I can do about it.'
'You're not even trying.' I rubbed my forehead. He was right, I should get some sleep. Go to bed at least. Didn't think I'd be able to sleep.
He touched my shoulder. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but I was so tense, I flinched. He took a step back, hand raised defensively.
'You okay?' he said.
'I just want to keep trying. There has to be something else I can do.'
Ben started to say something, but turned and went back to the room instead.
I joined him an hour or so later, finally putting the phone away, shutting out the lights. Giving up. 'Ben?'
He didn't react. Already asleep, his breathing was deep and steady. I climbed into bed next to him, secretly hoping he would wake up and hold me. But he didn't.
When I arrived at KNOB the next day, I had a visitor waiting in the lobby for me.
I walked through the door, and she stood up from a lobby chair, crossed her arms, and regarded me with an irritated frown. She wore rumpled slacks and a jacket, with a blouse open at the collar. Well-worn business wear. A real working woman. Her dark hair was pulled into a short ponytail.
'Detective Hardin,' I said, unable to sound happy about seeing her. 'Hi.'
'Nice to see you, too,' she said wryly. 'Why didn't you tell me you were back in town?'
'I've been trying to keep my head down.'
'Not doing a very good job.'
'Tell me about it,' I muttered under my breath. 'Had any luck with your robbers?'
'Not yet. I've had to put that aside for now. Another case has come up. I'd like you to look at something.' She pulled an attachй case off the chair.
'It's not autopsy photos, is it? Because I'm not really in the mood for autopsy photos.'
I'd meant it as a joke. In our last set of encounters, Hardin kept asking me to look at bodies and tell her if a werewolf had ripped open their torsos and torn them to pieces.
But her expression didn't change. She frowned, expectant and impatient. 'Crime scene photos. Homicide.'
Damn.
'Is there someplace we can talk in private?' she finished.
'Do I have to?' I almost whined.
At least her smile was sympathetic. 'I'll owe you a favor. Never underestimate the power of a cop owing you favors.'
Fine. Whatever. 'Upstairs conference room.'
I led the way, surreptitiously glancing over my shoulder at her. I could feel her studying me, as a prickling up and down my spine. I made the trip as short as I could, and she got right to work, pulling a handful of five-by-seven photos from her case and spreading them on the table. Ten of them lined up.
Each one showed a face, some of them merely spattered with blood, some of them drenched, so that their hair was red and plastered to their skin. Some of them showed slashes across cheeks and throats—claw marks. A couple had jagged wounds, pieces of flesh torn and hanging. Teeth marks. All of them had their eyes closed. My gut twisted.
'We got a 911 call at around 3:00 a.m. from a warehouse south of downtown,' Detective Hardin explained. 'This is what we found when we got there. We traced the 911 call to a mobile phone dropped just inside the building. It might have belonged to one of the victims. We couldn't get prints off it. All the victims were inside. All of them showed signs of struggle, like there'd been a fight. A
