Fair Game (Alpha & Omega #3)(55)
Author: Patricia Briggs

Flushed and joyous, Anna bent down and nipped his ear. "No audience necessary, I see."

"Move," Charles told her.

She laughed again, her eyes still moonlit azure – but she moved.

THEY SLEPT IN.

Charles woke up first and watched her face in the late-morning light. It was peaceful and pleased Brother Wolf even though the moon was waxing nearly full and the urge to hunt always ran strong in his bones at that time. Contentment was still something new for Charles, something he’d never experienced in all his long life before he’d met Anna.

"I’ve been thinking about the killers," Anna said without opening her eyes. "Three people is a pack."

Charles waited for her to continue.

She sat up with a snap. In a voice filled with hushed excitement she said, "The fae – he’s the soldier, the bottom of the pecking order. Doing as he’s told, when he’s told to do it. The old guy, he’s the one who started this. He’s the Alpha."

"Mmm," Charles said, when it appeared she needed his agreement. The hunting moon might not be stirring Brother Wolf, as long as he had Anna in his bed, but apparently Anna was feeling it pretty strongly.

"Who is the second young one?" she asked. "Do you think he’s the obedient second? Loyal, dedicated? Or is he the Alpha in training, waiting until the old man is too old to control the pack so he can kill him and take over?"

"Neither of us is a trained profiler," he felt obliged to point out.

She bounced in the bed, her brown eyes glittering with excitement. "Now that Lizzie is rescued, all we have to do is solve the rest."

"As they have been trying to do for longer than you’ve been alive," he told her dryly.

"Yes," she said, "but they didn’t have you and me on the case."

They had a TV now, and satellite – mostly so Anna could watch her detective shows. She was enjoying this. Charles…He supposed he was enjoying it, too. More now that the innocents were safe, in the hospital or the morgue.

"Motive," she said in the same voice he imagined Archimedes might have said, "Eureka!" in his bath all those years ago.

"Doesn’t work the same way in serial-killer cases as it does in most murders," he said. "Serial killers are addicted to the hunt and they aren’t capable of stopping, most of them. Their lives are controlled by the kill."

"He’s tagging his victims," Anna said. "What does that say?"

"These are less than human," said Charles, repeating what they both knew. "Animals I have killed."

"Right. Animals that he has killed. He’s claiming the kill with that tag." She frowned. "Aren’t serial killers supposed to try to step into the investigation? To watch people struggle and fail to solve the case – or to control the case better?"

"I’ve heard that," Charles agreed. "For some kinds of killers."

She grinned at him.

"All of which the FBI knows better than we do," he said. "We’ve probably helped the case as much as we can until someone else is taken."

Anna sobered. "It’s too bad we weren’t able to hurt the horned lord worse than we did. He was mostly healed by the time he hit the top of the stairs – did you notice? The police don’t have a chance against him."

"We’ll stay here for a while. Leslie and Goldstein seemed to be sensible people. They’ll call us in if they need us."

She tilted her head and asked, "What does Brother Wolf say about all of this?"

"That these hunters didn’t get what they want; we stole their prey. They’re going to be hungry and even more dangerous. On the other hand, I, Charles, say that we ought to eat something, as it is long past morning and we missed breakfast and are in danger of missing lunch – and Brother Wolf is pleased to concur."

"You are always trying to feed me," she accused him without heat as she got out of bed.

"No, that’s Brother Wolf." Charles smiled. "I’ll cook."

CHARLES HAD MEANT to talk to her about his ghosts over breakfast, because he’d been tired last night, and then he’d been distracted. But something she had said nagged at him.

"Charles?" Anna asked patiently.

"Sorry," he told her. "Thinking."

"Do you want some more bacon, or should I put it in the fridge for later?"

There were four pieces left. He took two and ate them. Then he took the other two and held them up to her mouth. "You need more protein."

She rolled her eyes, but ate them anyway.

"I need to look something up on the Internet," he said. "Can you get the dishes?"

"You cooked; I’ll clean," she said.

He took his laptop into the spare bedroom where there was a small writing desk. It was slower than his desktop at home and the screen was too small to let him pull up as many images at a time as he liked to – and the Internet connection here was not too fast, either. He growled in frustration as his fingers flew over the keyboard, as if by moving faster he could coax the machine to greater effort.

He started out with the legitimate things he had access to – Goldstein had sent him a file on the case, as he had promised – and then dug deeper. These killers, these UNSUBS, they had money – had power. Anna was right: they would not be able to stay out of the investigation.

At some point Anna brought him a pizza – though he hadn’t noticed her ordering it. A little later she came in to tap him on the shoulder.

"You, Isaac, and I have been invited to a celebration for Lizzie’s safe return," she told him.

"I’m waiting for two phone calls," Charles said.

"This would be an excellent time for some PR with the Boston Police Department – which is important for the Olde Towne Pack. Isaac told me they’ve had some issues this year."

He rolled his seat back from the desk and looked at his mate. She looked a little antsy and her brown eyes glowed slightly, highlighted with her wolf’s light blue.

It was dark outside, which meant she’d been cooped up in here for hours with nothing to do but watch TV. And it was close to the full moon. It wasn’t fair to make her sit around any longer.

"This may be a wild-goose chase, but I’m on to something and I’d like to finish it up," he told her. "Would you agree to letting Isaac be your escort?" Brother Wolf didn’t like it, but Charles didn’t want to smother her. He might be finished in five minutes – or twelve hours. And Isaac was a good fighter; Charles had seen it last night. He’d been outmatched in sheer size and strength and hampered by not being able to see their opponent, but he’d fought smart.