Kitty Goes to War

I wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay, as if he were a little kid. So strange to see someone that tough and capable look that lost.

“Bad pla

“We were a family,” Tyler said. “That’s part of why the captain picked us. None of us have wives or kids. It was just us.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” I muttered, not quite under my breath. These guys having kids would have added a whole other level of tragedy to the situation.

“It didn’t matter how much the captain explained, we still wouldn’t have known what to expect. Like this,” Tyler said. He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pushed up his left sleeve. “What do you see?”

A really buff arm, with a rounded shoulder and well-defined biceps. The dark skin was smooth, unblemished even by goose bumps. I shrugged and said, “Your arm?”

“I had a tattoo here. Really nice, tribal—covered half my arm. We all had tattoos—names, unit badges, good-luck charms, usual army shit. Then Gordon turned me. When I woke up, there was a big ink stain on the sheet and no tattoo. That happened to all of us.”

“It healed,” I said. “Werewolf superimmunity—your body rejected the ink as a foreign object.” Good thing I hadn’t been thinking of getting one of my own.

“It was like being erased,” Tyler said. “Starting over with a clean slate. But it also felt like losing something. I lost something I thought was going to be part of me forever.”

I knew how he felt. Saying so would sound trite and probably not help much.

“Have you heard anything about Van?” Walters asked suddenly. “The doctor won’t tell us anything.”

I didn’t imagine Shumacher talked to them much, if ever.

“Vanderman you mean?” I said. “No. Not apart from his being charged with murder.”

Walters slumped. “It wasn’t him. I mean, not just him. He wasn’t in his right mind.”

“He still has to stay in custody.”

“He’s taking the fall for us,” Tyler said.

“I don’t think you should feel guilty,” I said.

“You’re so keen on helping us, you ought to be helping all of us,” Tyler said.

“We’re a pack,” Walters said, as if it was a mantra.

I started thinking this would have been easier with Vanderman included. If I could rehabilitate him, the others would follow. Then I remembered the look in his eyes, that killer instinct. If Tyler and Walters were going to function on their own, they had to do it without the alpha.

They were making progress here. They were talking. They weren’t panicking or raging or about to shape-shift. They were acting almost normally. I had to give them goals, keep them motivated. Distracted. We had to make progress.

“Do you guys want to get out, maybe see a little of Denver?” I said. Ben glanced at me, questioning.

Tyler and Walters looked at each other, and Tyler said, “Could we really do that?”

“Why not? You can sit here and have a conversation. The next step is to sit out there and have a conversation.” I nodded in the direction of the door. “Discipline. It’s all discipline and self-control.”

“The army way,” Tyler said, quirking a smile.

My phone rang with “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” The soldiers jumped, and I glanced around the table apologetically.

“Cormac,” I told Ben as I clicked the phone on. I’d finally given him his own ringtone so I’d have some warning.

“That’s your custom ringtone for Cormac?” he said.

I smirked back at him as I went to the corner for some privacy. Into the phone I said, “Yeah?”

“Your guy, Franklin? I found something,” Cormac said.

Life could never be simple, could it? I couldn’t deal with just one problem at a time, could I?

“What is it?” I pressed a hand to my other ear and listened.

“Your friend was right,” Cormac said. I almost corrected him, that Charles wasn’t my friend—but when he needed to talk, he’d called me. What did that make me? Cormac continued, “Harold Franklin was traveling in all those locations on those dates. I’m not sure it means anything—the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy—”

“Whoa—what was that you just said?”

He paused before saying, “Never mind.”

“But—”

“Maybe Franklin had something to do with those storms, maybe he didn’t. But it’s interesting that he’s never been present for major earthquakes, mudslides, wildfires—just storms.”

So Franklin coincidentally shows up for major, historically significant storms, but not other natural disasters. It wasn’t much to base a defense on. “Like you said, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. And I don’t think it’s admissible in court.”

“Probably not. But it’s a start. I’ve got some more checking to do.”

“Great. Cool. Whatever you can find. Do you need help?”

“You know—I might,” he said. “Let me talk to Ben a minute.”

Sure, he could co

“Not about Speedy Mart, anyway,” he said.

“Hey!” I pouted.

Gri

“What’s that all about?” Tyler asked.

I sighed. How did I explain this in as few words as possible? “I spent part of my show last week talking about whether or not something supernatural is going on with Speedy Mart—the 24-hour convenience store chain, right?”

“Something supernatural—like vampires and werewolves?” he said.

“Kind of. Anything, really. Magical, supernatural—weird. Anyway, the president of Speedy Mart is suing me for libel. So now we want to prove that there really is something going on with him because then it isn’t libel.”

Tyler leaned forward a little. “If someone’s giving you trouble, Walters and I could maybe take care of it—”

“No,” I said. “That will definitely not be necessary. We’ve got it under control.”

Not that siccing a couple of Green Beret werewolves on Franklin wouldn’t be fun to watch . . .

Ben returned to the table, folding my phone and handing it back to me.

“Well?” I said.

“Later,” he said.

“You two lead interesting lives, don’t you?” Tyler said.

I shrugged. “For certain values of interesting.”

We finished the meal. The sodas were drunk, the skewers lay empty and bloody. I was feeling quite pleased with myself.

“Thanks,” Tyler said. “Been awhile since I’ve eaten that well.” Walters made a sound of agreement. Was he actually smiling?

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Think about that next step, okay? I’ll see if I can’t arrange a field trip.” I tried to sound encouraging.

Tyler’s responding smile was grim, but it was a smile. Walters looked up, then away. But tension in the room was less than it had been when we entered.

Ben and I left shoulder to shoulder, and Shumacher led us back to her office for the debriefing. She kept looking at Ben—who had, of course, blown his cover by coming here and talking werewolf with the soldiers. Ben looked back at her, unconcerned and amused. We’d discussed this—and if he hadn’t been okay with her knowing, he wouldn’t have come.

“I assumed you’d guessed when I didn’t mind getting Kitty’s blood all over me,” he said finally.

She blushed and ducked her gaze. “I didn’t spot it. I thought I was getting good at identifying werewolves on sight. But you hide it well.”

“I’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet,” Ben said. “I’m not the publicity hound Kitty is.”

“Publicity hound? Is that a joke?” I said, and he kissed my cheek in response.