Deadlocked (Sookie Stackhouse #12)(60)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"Thing is, what we found is a dead body, and we ain’t sure it’s really him," Van said. When my face fell, he added, "I’m real sorry, but Alcide wants you to have a look at him and tell us it’s Warren for sure."

So much for a happy ending.

Chapter 12

"You-all were headed somewhere?" Van asked.

"We were taking this one to the airport," Bill said, nodding at Colton. This was news to me and to Colton, but it was good news. There really was a plan to get Colton away from the reach of Felipe.

"Why don’t you two continue on, then," Van said reasonably. He didn’t ask any further questions or demand to know Colton’s identity, which was a relief. "I can take Sookie to the body, she’ll check the identity, and I’ll get her home. Or we can meet up somewhere."

"At Alcide’s?" Bill asked.

"Sure."

"Sookie, you okay with that?"

"Yeah, all right," I said. "Let me get my purse out of your car."

Bill clicked his car open and I reached inside to get my purse, which held a change of clothes. I definitely wanted to find a couple of minutes of privacy to put on something a little less revealing.

I felt uneasy without knowing exactly why. We’d recovered Colton, and if he could get the hell out of town, he’d probably be safe. If Colton couldn’t tell the little he remembered about that evening at Fangtasia, Eric would be safer, and therefore I would be safer-and so would all of the Shreveport vamps. I ought to be feeling happier. I slung my bag over my shoulder, glad that I had the cluviel dor with me.

"You’re okay with these wolves?" Bill asked in a very low voice as Colton got into Bill’s car and buckled his seat belt.

"Uh-huh," I said, though I wasn’t so sure. But I shook myself and called myself paranoid. "These are Alcide’s wolves, and he’s my friend. But just in case, call him when you’re on your way, would you?"

"Go with me," Bill said suddenly. "They can identify Warren by smell, maybe. Mustapha could definitely do that, when he resurfaces."

"Nah, it’s okay. Get Colton to the airport," I said. "Get him out of town."

Bill looked at me searchingly, then nodded in a jerky way. I watched as Bill and Colton drove off.

Now that I was alone with the werewolves, I felt even odder.

"Van," I said, "Where did you find Warren?"

The other three crowded around: a woman in her thirties with a pixie haircut, an airman from the Air Force base in Bossier City, and a girl in her teens with very generous curves. The teenager was in the first throes of experiencing her power as a Were, almost drunk with her newfound ability; it dominated her brain. The other two meant business. And that was all I could get of their thoughts. We were walking north on the street to a gray Camaro, which seemed to belong to Airman.

"I’ll show you. It’s a little ways east of town. Since Mustapha wasn’t a pack member, we never met Warren."

"Okay," I said doubtfully. And I thought of making some excuse not to get in the car, because my uneasiness was mounting like a drumroll. We were alone on a dark street, and I realized they had boxed me in. I had no real reason to doubt that Van was telling me the truth-but I had an instinct that was telling me this situation stank. I wished instinct had spoken up more clearly a few minutes ago when I’d had Bill at my side. I got in the car, and the Weres crowded in. We buckled up, and in a second we were driving in the direction of the interstate.

Curiously, I almost didn’t want to discover that my suspicion was valid. I was tired of crises, tired of deceit, tired of life-or-death situations. I felt like a stone being skipped across a pond, longing only to sink to the anonymous bottom.

Well, that was stupid. I gave myself a mental shake. Not time to long for things I couldn’t have at the moment. Time to be alert and ready for action. "Do you really have Warren?" I asked Van. He was sitting to my right in the backseat of the Camaro. The plump teenager was crowded in to my left. She didn’t smell particularly good.

"Nope," he said. "Ain’t ever seen him, that I know of."

"Then why are you doing this?" I might as well know, though I already felt sadly sure this was going to end poorly.

"Alcide asked that black bugger Mustapha to join the pack," Van said. "He ain’t asked us."

So they were all rogues. "But I saw you at the last pack meeting."

"Yeah, I was going through rush, like they do in fraternities," Van said, deeply sarcastic. "But I didn’t make the cut. Guess I got blackballed."

"I thought he had to let you in," I said. "I mean, I didn’t know the packleader got to pick and choose."

"Alcide is a little too selective," said the airman, who was driving. He turned a little so I could see his profile as he spoke. "He doesn’t want anyone with a serious criminal record in his pack."

Alarm bells sounded then in my brain, way too late. Mustapha had been in prison, though I didn’t know the charge … yet Alcide had been willing to accept him into the pack. What had these rogues done that had been so bad that a wolf pack wouldn’t have them?

The girl beside me tittered. The woman in the passenger’s side of the front seat cast her a dark look, and the girl stuck out her tongue like a ten-year-old.

"You got a police record?" I asked the plump girl.

Plump gave me a sly look. She had straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Her bangs were almost in her eyes. She’d stuffed herself into a striped tube top and blue jeans. She was wearing flip-flops. "I got a juvenile record," she said proudly. "I set my house on fire. My mama got out just in time. My daddy and the boys didn’t."

And I got what her daddy had been doing to her, just a single line of memory from her, and I was almost glad he hadn’t made it out. But the brothers? Little boys? I didn’t think she was too happy her mom had made it out, either.

"So Alcide wouldn’t admit any of you?"

"No," said Van. "But when there’s a changeover, and the pack has a new leader, we’ll be in. We’ll have security."

"What’s going to happen to Alcide?"

"We’re gonna overthrow his ass," said Airman.

"He’s a good man," I said quietly.

"He’s a douche," said Plump.

During this charming conversation the woman in the front seat had not spoken, and though I couldn’t read her thoughts, I could read the ambiguity and regret that were making it hard for her to sit still. I sensed she was on the cusp of a decision, and I feared to say something that would tip her over to the wrong side.