No Humans Involved by Kelley Armstrong

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. One last glance at Grady's door before I hurried down to my own.

  I'd been played by Becky. We'd all been played by her, but that was no excuse. I consider myself a good judge of character--showbiz character, at least. But I'd fallen for the nervous young director routine. Conned. But not for long.

  I TURNED off the bedside light, laid down and called Jeremy. He answered on the second ring.

  "Checking in as requested," I said. "Safe and snug in bed. How's the hunt going?"

  "Badly. I followed his trail to his car. Then presumably he drove off."

  "Which makes tracking impossible. Was he alone when he left?"

  "Yes. He seems to have persuaded the others to go on without him. No sign of the police being called for the break-in."

  "Can't take the chance of them finding the blood-flecked dungeon downstairs."

  "No doubt. I'm parked behind his house, but he hasn't returned. While I hope he simply stopped to grab a late-night snack, I think he's done exactly what I feared he'd do."

  "Run to his contact to try to get in touch with the group."

  "Which would be perfect if I were still following him." A soft sigh. "I'll wait another hour or so, in case he returns."

  "If he does, will you talk to him?"

  "Only if it can be done safely. Otherwise, I'll regroup and try again tomorrow."

  I laid my head on the pillow. "Thanks. For looking out for me tonight. I know you're used to having a partner who can take more of the risks."

  "All of the risks, you mean. If I'd been there with Clay or Elena--or anyone from the Pack--I'd have been the one sitting above the hatch and being escorted past the rats. I'm the Alpha, remember? I'm not allowed to have fun."

  "Fun?"

  "Fun might be pushing it," he said, echoing my words from earlier. "But it's nice to say, 'I'm going down the hatch first,' and not have four werewolves scrambling over themselves to do it for me, lest I stub my toe."

  "Can't lead the Pack with a stubbed toe."

  "Evidently. And while I have no objection to devising strategies, giving orders and letting them have their adventures, it can be a bit...much at times. You mentioned those diseased rats in Toronto?"

  "Right."

  "At least you were allowed to whack one. When we initially discovered the nest, I wanted to determine what disease they might have contracted. I was allowed a split-second glance at the nest, then they let me examine a nearby rat corpse, with Clay hovering over me, twitching as if he expected the thing to jump up and bite me in the nose."

  "He can be a tad overprotective, can't he?"

  "A tad. But it's his job and it's also his nature, so I can't argue. And, yet, I'll admit it's refreshing to turn the tables now and then."

  "And protect instead of being protected?"

  "You can take care of yourself. But..."

  "I can just tell myself I'm humoring you."

  A soft laugh. "Yes, you can."

  We kept talking as he watched Botnick's house. At some point, I drifted off. When my alarm rang, I was still clutching the phone to my ear, the call long since disconnected.

  MY MORNING began with another call to Jeremy. There'd been no sign of Botnick all night. Jeremy had retreated to his hotel just before dawn. He'd swing by and survey Botnick's house and shop before coming to breakfast.

  Since he'd been up all night, I certainly didn't expect him to put on his game face and make nice to strangers. But he was already on his way--or so he said, though I could have sworn I heard the shower running in the background.

  As for Hope, she'd left a message on his hotel answering service, saying Bigfoot had kept her up until dawn.

  After I hung up, I took last night's clothes from the garbage can and put them in a bag for private disposal later. If Todd Simon had cameras installed in the house, he wasn't above having the cleaning staff root through our trash. Next thing I knew, Hope would be given a new assignment--investigating Jaime Vegas's ripped, sewage-stained, rat-hair-strewn clothes. I'd hate to see the story True News would come up with to explain that one.

  Then it was time to take care of Becky.

  ON THE way to breakfast, I popped my head into the room the guards and staff were using as a base station. With apologies for intruding, I mentioned that I'd spotted a paparazzi lurking about the night before. It was a lie, but within minutes, I was perched on the edge of the desk, surrounded by the trio of guards as I regaled them with tales of life in the limelight.

  "Last month I got a letter from this guy who said he'd written a story about me and posted it online," I said. "I thought that was so sweet. Look at me, inspiring fan fiction and I'm not even a fictional character. So I type in the link he sent and I start reading it, and it's really cute, all about him meeting me at a show, then being taken backstage..."

  "Uh-huh," one guard chortled.

  I nudged him with my foot, letting my black silk skirt ride up my thigh, their gazes riding up with it. "So you think you know what happens next? You don't know the half of it."

  He grinned. "Gonna tell us?"

  "Let's just say that being able to contact ghosts makes for some very interesting menages a trois...and menages a quatre, and menages a...whatever five is in French."

  They laughed.

  "I never knew I had a thing for geishas and Amazons, but there it was, in vivid detail, and even more vivid color illustrations."

  "Spirit photography?" one of them said.

  I smacked his arm, letting my fingernails graze his biceps. "Drawings, of course. Very imaginative drawings."

  The youngest guard swung around the laptop on the desk, fingers poised over the keys, brows raised in a dare.

  "You think I memorized the URL?" I said.

  All three of them teased me until I sighed and said, "Try these keywords. Jaime--spelled J-A-M-I-E, his attention to detail not extending to my name. Vegas. Geisha. Amazon warrior. And, ahem, Nubian slave master."

  A howl of laughter.

  "Found it," the guard said. Then, after a moment, "Holy shit."

  "Did I mention it was imaginative? I don't know where I got those missiles." I waved at the picture, then at my chest. "But apparently there's more to me than meets the eye. A lot more."

  As they laughed, Angelique passed the door, heading for the dining room. I jumped off the desk.

  "Angelique!"

  She stopped, frowning as she saw where I was.

  "I need to talk to you. Someplace--" I glanced at the guards, "--private. Sorry, guys. Maybe there's an empty room someplace--"

  "Take this one," the head guard said. "We'll clear out."

  "Are you sure?"

  They were. As they left, I thanked them and agreed to come by later with more stories. They waved Angelique in and closed the door behind them.

  "We're supposed to stick to the common rooms," she said.

  "Do you know why? I'll show you in a minute." I moved behind the desk and sat. "But first, I bet I know who fed you stories about me. It's either Becky or Will, but my money's on Will. He tried the same shit with me the second day--hinting that you were talking about me behind my back. I wouldn't bite, but if I had, I can guarantee you'd have seen my response on the show."

  Confusion, then dawning horror.

  I continued. "Whatever you said about me, Angelique, it's now on film. And when it airs, you won't see what led to your comments, just the end results. Just you spouting seemingly ungrounded insults and accusations."

  Her face paled. I waved for her to sit down.

  "Whatever you said about me, I don't care, but you won't see me saying a word against you because I haven't. I've been around long enough to know better. I also know better than to do anything that will make me seem too good, and risk pissing off my costars. For example, sneaking a peek at a file on potential subjects. Did Becky tell you I did that?"

  "Will. But he said he wasn't supposed to tell--" Her pretty face hardened. "That was part of the setup, wasn't
it? Let on he's sneaking me secrets, and I won't go after you about it. They played us against each other."

  "Becky did get me to look at a memo," I said. "Accidentally. On Gabrielle Langdon. That's why I tried to pass you the tips. And that's why I wouldn't make contact myself. It wasn't fair."

  She flushed. "Guess I haven't been very fair myself. But Todd Simon warned me I had to be on the defensive, especially against you. He said everyone's out for blood in this town, and I'd get eaten alive if I didn't come out swinging."

  "Well, you can stop swinging now, because I'm not your enemy. As for why I told you all this in here, let me take you for a little stroll. Show you a few features of the house they didn't cover in the tour."

  I SHOWED her the hidden cameras in the common areas. She managed to hold it together until we were back in the guard room, then collapsed into a chair.

  "I can't believe...my dad said I wasn't ready for Hollywood, but I was so sick of the revival circuit. I thought this was going to be my big chance." A strained laugh. "My big chance to make a fool of myself on national television."

  I took the chair opposite hers. "Maybe not."

  AFTER TALKING to Angelique, I tracked down Becky and apologized for my poor performance the day before. I promised to do better that afternoon.

  "I just...I guess I get nervous about contacting famous people who died fairly recently. With a case like Gabrielle Langdon, it was all over the news and so many people know the details. If I get them right, I'll look like I'm just remembering the case. If I screw up, everyone will know it."

  She nodded. "I can see that. But you won't need to worry about that this afternoon. This guy hasn't been in the news for..." She calculated. "About thirty years."

  "Thank God."

  She checked her PalmPilot, then said casually, gaze still down, "You live in Chicago, don't you?"

  "I do."

  "Then you'll have an edge, because what he was famous for is a lot better known in Chicago than Hollywood, though he himself lived here. And there's no murder involved. Not his murder, that is, though he certainly sent a lot of people to their graves." A slow shake of her head. "Live that kind of life and die in your sleep. Proof that life isn't fair."

  She studied my face, trying to see whether I needed any more hints. I didn't. I thanked her for her time, then went in search of Claudia and Grady.

  JEREMY AND I dined alone. That seemed wisest--letting Becky believe that her stars had passed the stage of feigning civility and now were avoiding one another even for meals.

  The next seance segment would be later that morning, so I had to stick around. I tried persuading Jeremy to go--to hook up with Hope, maybe pay a visit to Botnick at his shop--but he insisted there was no rush. We'd leave together after I was free.

  In the meantime, I wanted to go into the garden, to try contacting the ghosts again.

  "I know I'm not going to have some sudden breakthrough, but..." I let the sentence trail off.

  "At the very least, you're letting them know you're still here. That's hardly a waste of time, if they're comforted."

  Before we went outside, I collected my necromancy kit, then picked up a package I'd ordered from town. A little gift for Jeremy. Not much of a gift, I thought, as I looked into the bag. Unoriginal. Probably unwanted, under the circumstances. I wished I'd chosen something better. I wished I knew what better would be.

  I took it out to the patio and thrust it at Jeremy with a mumbled "Just a little something."

  He opened the bag and smiled. Reaching in, he pulled out a sketch pad and pencils.

  "Okay," I said. "Probably the last thing you need on this trip. But I thought, well, maybe if we had some downtime like this, you could use a distraction from the research."

  "I could. Thank you. It'll help me clear my mind so I can see fresh angles. It's perfect timing too. I know you prefer to work without an audience breathing down your neck."

  "Strange for a stage performer, huh?"

  "No, not really." He folded the bag and put it into his pocket. "Let's get out there, then, before they find work for you."

  BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

  SO WE "WORKED" TOGETHER at the back of the garden, me kneeling on my ritual cloth, Jeremy seated off to the side out of my field of vision. If anything, I was more relaxed than when I'd been alone, maybe because I knew he'd detect--and warn me of--any intruders before I was "caught." Or maybe it was just comforting having him nearby, the steady scratch of his pencil underscoring the children's whispers. Even they seemed more patient with me, their encouraging caresses never turning to jabs and slaps. For all that, though, I made no progress.

  Finally, I stopped, stretched and walked over to Jeremy.

  "What are you draw--" I caught sight of the page. "Hey, that's me."

  I bit my cheek to keep from grinning. I'd never known Jeremy to sketch anyone outside the Pack. While it might have meant that he didn't like flowers, and I was the only living alternative, I knew it meant something. With Jeremy, that's what art was about--a medium to explore an idea...or a person.

  "It's recognizable, then? Always a good sign." He closed the book. "Are you done?"

  "I think so. Can I see?" I hesitated with my fingers outstretched toward his book, then curled them back. "Or maybe I shouldn't ask. Your art and all. Private, I guess."

  "No more private than your rituals and you share those with me." He handed me the pad. "Just a series of sketches. I'm thinking of doing a painting."

  "Of me?"

  His smile grew, touching his eyes. "If that's all right. I'm working on one of the twins right now. For them, when they're older. It's taking awhile. I originally meant it to be just Kate and Logan, but decided to add Clay and Elena. A bigger project, but I thought the children might prefer that when they grow up."

  "More meaningful, with their parents in it."

  "I thought so."

  I opened the book and flipped through the sketches. There were quite a few, all raw, some no more than an outline, maybe with a feature or two. Preparation for a painting--Jeremy preferred to work from sketches and memory rather than from live models. An interpretation rather than a photograph, he said.

  His interpretations were often surprising. Like the older portraits of Clay and Elena in his studio. Clay--brash, difficult, violent--depicted as a young man with an almost boyish innocence. Elena--the more sociable, more easygoing of the pair--painted with a dangerous edge, the beast within revealed.

  On first glance, you'd say Jeremy got them wrong, misinterpreted. But I'd seen that feral side of Elena, protecting her loved ones, and I'd caught glimpses of Clayton's gentler side, playing with his children or talking to his wife. Not their dominant personalities, but an aspect of the whole--a side you had to dig to find.

  So it was with no surprise that when I first looked at the sketches Jeremy had done of me, I thought No, that's not right. Not the way I saw myself. Not even the way I saw myself reflected in others. In those sketches, I looked...quiet. Intent, almost introspective. My gaze was focused on something to the side, my expression serious, solemn even, rapt in concentration.

  Yet the more I stared at them, the more I thought Yes, I recognize that. Like seeing a photo of myself shot at an odd angle.

  "Oooh, nice," said a voice at my shoulder. "I like the one in the corner there."

  I wheeled to see a woman a few years younger than me, with straight black hair almost to her waist. Six feet tall with the remote, slightly exotic look of a fashion model. That illusion of aloofness vanished the moment she glanced up from the page, her eyes dancing in predatory amusement, like a cat always on the lookout for something worth pouncing on.

  "Eve!" I spun to Jeremy. "It's Eve."

  I knew I looked ridiculous, gesturing at empty air, but he only smiled and said, "Hello, Eve. Glad you could join us."

  "Glad to be here." She looked at me. "Am I interrupting? If you guys were just getting to the naked-portrait stage, I can come back."

  "Ha-ha.
We were just finishing some stuff. I was contacting--" I looked around. "They're gone. Or being quiet."

  "Probably trying to figure out what I am."

  "Jaime?" Jeremy said, rising. "I'll go inside and get you a cold drink. If anyone's looking for you, I'll stall them."

  "Thanks."

  "What a sweetie," Eve said as he left. "And visiting you all the way from New York. No family in tow. Sitting in the garden sketching you while you fondle corpse bits. Positively domestic. So does this mean you guys are--"

  "No," I cut in, then smiled. "I can't believe you're here. Kristof was certain it was a no-go."

  She perched on the edge of a retaining wall. "Well, it wasn't easy getting out of there, let me tell you. First there were the chains, tying me to my rock. And that big vulture that keeps picking at my flesh. Then the fires of hell, and that three-headed demon dog guarding the exit..." She reached out to smack my arm, though her fingers passed through. "You're looking at me like I'm serious. How evil do you think I am? Sheesh."

  "Speaking of evil, I met one of your old friends the other day. I just popped by to talk to her and ended up knocked unconscious, thrown in her car and driven to a body-dump site."

  "What?"

  I left out the part about Savannah coming to my rescue and taking on Molly. Good call, because as soon as I mentioned that Molly had been in contact with Savannah, Eve's face twisted with a cold fury that chilled my blood no matter how many times I saw it.

  "That two-faced smarmy bitch. You tell Savannah she is not to--"

  Eve stopped and turned away, her lips curling in a snarl scarier than any of Jeremy's. She stood with her back to me. I waited. After a moment, she relaxed and turned around, smiling again.

  "Okay, let's take that back a step. Ahem. Would you please convey a message to Savannah that Molly Crane is not to be trusted? As a contact, I only used her for what she could do for me because that's exactly how she treats everyone else. With Savannah, she only wants--"

  "To see whether Savannah can be useful. Savannah already figured that out."

  "She did? That's my girl." She planted herself on the retaining wall. "Back to business, then."

  "First, about you being here. It's...okay? With everyone?"