“In a manner of speaking.”
No understanding in Cyrus Montgomery’s eyes. He probably thought Fillmore somehow escaped and skipped town when the abduction was thwarted. He might even think Fillmore would be back for another try.
“Family discussions should be held after work from now on,” Burke said. “Any discussions that are held during Lieutenant Montgomery’s shift will be considered police business. Are we clear about that?”
“Clear enough.”
Resentment. Slyness. How did a man grow up to be this, living in the same household as Monty, with a woman like Twyla for a mother?
Burke started to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, I bought the Stag and Hare. In a few weeks, it won’t be a good place to conduct any kind of business that can’t withstand intense police scrutiny.”
That was as much of a warning as he was willing to give the brother of Crispin James Montgomery.
? ? ?
Meg set the large plastic food container outside the back door of the Liaison’s Office. She didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a large someone keeping watch, waiting for the promised treat.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded wimpy. Being brave was easier when you didn’t know how stupid you’d been, scolding a primal form of terra indigene that frightened everyone you knew. Well, maybe not the Elementals, but everyone else. “Hello? Arroo? Here are the cookies.” She hesitated, because, really, would beings like the Elders care about little human concerns? “If you can, please return the container intact. Then it can be washed and used for another order of treats.”
No movement. No sound. Henry had told her the Elders were seldom seen in any form, so she didn’t really expect them to come rushing up like the Wolves would when cookies were delivered.
She started to retreat into the office, but she had one more thing to tell them—if any of them were listening. “Thank you for saving Theral today.”
Back inside the office, she locked the door. Not that a lock kept out anyone but humans, but it made her feel a little better.
An hour later, when she closed the office for the day and stepped outside to wait for Simon, she noticed the container of cookies was gone.
? ? ?
Burke drove fast as he headed north toward a stretch of road near Lake Tahki. He glanced at Steve Ferryman, who had made the second phone call he’d taken just before he left the office. “Your counterpart is sure about this?”
“You asked me to put out feelers,” Steve replied. “In response, I was asked to come to their village.”
“Trap?”
“No.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes. “I had to ask. Highway patrol called just before you did. They found Lorenzo’s car—and they found bodies.”
Steve looked at him. “They think they found Lorenzo.”
“They didn’t say that.”
“You ever do highway patrol?” Steve asked when they reached the location and Burke pulled up behind the flashing patrol car.
“During my tours of duty in the wild country,” Burke replied.
The officer in charge was young enough that Burke wondered why he’d been given this assignment. Then he caught the look the cop exchanged with Ferryman.
Intuit. They might have to hide what they were in order to stay safe among other kinds of humans, but their people still needed the same skills as any other community, and that included law enforcement.
“A car was torched just up the road,” the officer said. “Two bodies inside. Another officer and I were walking the road to see if we could find anything else when we spotted the white sedan on the woodland track.”
Not a paved highway. Not even a dirt road. But vehicles used that clear space between the trees often enough that there were visible tracks that another driver could follow to someplace rarely seen by humans.
“Got your BOLO about the same time as we found the cars,” the officer continued. “And we found a couple of other things I think you’ll want to see since I gathered you’re more interested in the owner of the vehicle than the vehicle itself.”
“That’s correct,” Burke said.
The officer led them to a body bag. “Male. Hands don’t look old, but I can’t tell you much else. You can look if you want, but it’s bad.”
“He was shot?” Burke asked.
“Him? No, although there is some blood in the car, so whoever was driving it might have been shot.” The officer blew out a breath. “No, something picked up this man and swung him like a club into that tree. Pulped his head.”
“Hair color?”
“Light brown. Cut short.”
Burke breathed out tension. “That’s not the man I’m looking for.”
“Might have been better for him if it was.” The officer pointed toward the track in the woods. “This way.”
The officer led them just far enough along the track that a curve hid the car from sight. Then he pointed. “The blood trail from the car ends here.”
Steve Ferryman sucked in a breath. “Is that a paw print?”
The officer nodded. “Something picked up a body and carried it off up the track.”
“Did you follow the prints?” Burke asked.
“No, sir. We’re already beyond the right-of-way standing here. If you’ve seen enough, we should get back to the highway.”
If Steve Ferryman hadn’t been with him, he might have pushed to go a little farther up the track, regardless of the risk. But he knew that he wouldn’t find Dominic Lorenzo around here.
The car would be towed to the nearest human settlement, but the officer handed over Lorenzo’s medical bag and carryall. No reason not to since there was no one to arrest, and the highway patrol and crime investigation team didn’t believe there was a body left to be found.
Back in the car, Burke followed Steve’s directions as they continued north toward Lake Tahki until they reached a small village. No welcome sign with the village name. The houses looked a bit shabby—in need of paint—but the yards were neatly kept and every house had flower beds or planters. The business district was the same mix of neat and shabby. An older place with not a lot of money to spare on extras, whether you were talking about the governing body or the individual families.
Burke pulled into the parking lot beside a clinic and drugstore. Saying nothing, he followed Steve inside the clinic—and found Dominic Lorenzo.
“I’m glad to see you,” he said, studying the cuts and bruises on Lorenzo’s face. Pained face. Meg Corbyn had been right about that. Judging by the bandages around the man’s torso and the sling supporting one arm, it was a good bet some of the bullets that hit the car also hit the man but hadn’t inflicted life-threatening wounds.
“I’m glad to be here,” Lorenzo replied. “There were three men . . .”
“Not a worry anymore.”
Lorenzo stared at him, then nodded in understanding.
“What do you want to do?” Burke asked.