Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (10 page)

That unfroze me. Reasonable and appropriate went poof. I snapped a roundhouse kick into the third attacker’s ribs.

And hopped back, shrieking. I’d just kicked Frankenstein. Or a flak vest, but I’d cracked my fricking toes, at least two of them. I’d broken them before, knew they’d be numb in seconds, but it
hurt
.

A roar split the night, louder than ten lions. I was seized by huge hands and pushed gently back. Glynn. He grabbed the goon by the neck, his long fingernails digging
into goon throat, squeezing hard…the goon’s neck snapped, head flopping like a rag doll.

I sucked air.

Glynn released the attacker. The body fell to the sidewalk with a sick
whump
.

“Oh my God.” Dumas backed away, face sickly yellow.

I whirled toward grass. The horror…and my soda…came up in acid rivers. Glynn caught my shoulders, steadied my head until the waves of nausea passed. When I was done, he gently wiped my mouth with a soft cloth, another surprise from his jacket.

I looked up. Mishela was inspecting the bodies, going through pockets with a cool professionalism that struck me as profoundly
at odds with her seventeen-year-old innocence.

“Chicago,” she said. “But we expected that.”

“Wh…what did they want?” I found myself clinging to Glynn, had to consciously release him.

“Dunno. But they tried to bag Mr. Dumas.”

And now they were dead. My eyes found the first man, his horribly mutilated jaw… The holes were still there, but I couldn’t see the shards. I tried to get a closer look. “Something’s wrong. Look at that guy’s—”

“Time to go.” Glynn grabbed my arm, hauled west.

“Come on, Mr. Dumas.” Mishela reached for the director.

A black-gloved hand got him first.

The hand was attached to a figure that materialized from a dark cleft between the bank and a yarn shop. Average height, slim, wearing a trench coat, a full mask obscured his…her—
its
features. It threw Dumas over its shoulder and disappeared between buildings before I was even fully aware of him/her/it.

Mishela sprang after, her face like a raptor’s.

“
No
.” Glynn’s voice rang with stark command. More—with mastery.

She yanked up like a puppet. Her raptor face disappeared but I’d remembered why it was familiar. It was Diana, Greek goddess of the hunt.

Demons, monsters—gods? Had Nixie soaked my reeds in vodka again? Just what was going on here?

“Mishela.” Glynn’s voice eased back to musical. “Before we pursue, we must see Junior safely home.”

“No time,” I said. “Every second counts in an abduction. We need to call the police, get them on Dumas’s trail.”

“We don’t need the police.” A smile crooked the corner of Mishela’s mouth. “Not when Glynn’s the best tracker there is.”

“Okay.” I believed her. After all, he had that whole nature’s king/druid vibe going. “But the police have equipment and manpower. And a ton of paperwork to start, so we need to let them know.”

But Mishela wasn’t listening, and Glynn was absorbed by the dark cleft between buildings where Dumas had been taken, touching the brick, sniffing it. When he moved off, Mishela followed.

If I didn’t want to be left behind with three bodies, I needed to leave too.

Normally I wouldn’t have worried about staying by myself. But we’d been attacked on Main Street—safe-as-cottonballs Main. Attacked by three thugs whom Glynn had not just fought but annihilated. Dumas had been abducted. It was a nightmare.

Hmm, we
were
 
standing
one block north of Elm Street.

None of it made sense, and I needed it to. What you don’t know
can
hurt you—and worse, can seriously reduce your profit margin.

So when Glynn and Mishela disappeared between buildings, I ran after.

Or rather, limped. Broken bones are screamingly painful. Numb cracked toes are just awkward.

I found them behind the bank, in an employee picnic area bordering the alley. Glynn was examining the landscaping hedges, Mishela watching closely. While they were absorbed, I pulled out my phone to call the cop shop.

Glynn took off again, west down the alley. I clutched the phone and followed. Hitting sidewalk on Second, he dropped to his hands and knees and put nose to concrete.

Like a hunting dog…or wolf.

He got to his feet, brushing off his hands. “This way.” Nostrils dilated, he loped off, going north on Second.

Very cool, slightly scary and another note stacked onto the weirdness chord.

As I shuffled behind, I punched in the phone number for information and got myself routed to the cop shop. As it rang I wondered what I would say. The police needed to know, but what Glynn had done…what could I tell them?

Alice Schmidt, nightshift dispatcher since the Kennedy administration, and recipient of so many bowling 300 rings she wore them on her toes, answered immediately. I still hadn’t decided what to say so I just asked for Elena.
 

Maybe I’d say that it was self-defense. It had been. Mostly. Yes, Glynn had killed three goons, but they’d been trying to hurt us. I listened to the phone ring, trying not to remember Glynn’s deadly precision, his destructiveness well beyond reasonable response. With the last thug, Glynn had been almost brutal. Just after I’d cracked my toes, when I shrieked…

Hey. Glynn hadn’t thought I was in danger or hurt, had he?

“Strongwell.”

Elena Strongwell was Meiers Corners’s top detective. I took a deep breath and reported. I tried to downplay the worst, but had to tell the truth.

She seemed strangely unconcerned by the dead goons. “Junior, the important thing is that you’re safe. But I doubt Glynn actually killed those guys.”

“You didn’t see it. The embedded knife, the blood…” I lowered my voice. “Elena, they were
dead
.”

Glynn paused to scent the air, paying no attention to me. Beside him, Mishela closed her eyes and sniffed it too.

Elena said, “Well, I’m on-site now. You said three? Only two here, so at least one’s alive.”

“That was fast.”

“Hubby and I were in the area doing our neighborhood watch thing. Bad news, Junior.”

“What?” My fearful gaze shot to Glynn’s broad back. It had been self-defense, but did killing those men mean jail for him? Or worse? “They’re…they’re…”

“Going to be fine.”

“What?” I couldn’t help it, I squealed. Glynn gave me a brief glance. I grinned with a thumbs up. Turning, I lowered my voice. “Elena, one was knifed in the heart and the other’s neck was snapped…” I petered out as I realized just how bad that sounded.

“Choked unconscious, maybe. The guy’s neck is fine.”

“But I saw his head flop!”

“People do a rag doll when going unconscious. And really, it’s a lot harder to poke through bone than it looks on TV.”

“I
know
that.” Was I going insane? I’d seen three men struck with killing blows. Could I have imagined it?

“Junior, you’re a businesswoman. Practical, right? Bottom line is, these guys are going to be fine. Facing stiff charges for assault, but fine.”

Nothing had happened, just like the “wolves” last night. Good news, except now I was possibly going nuts. I clipped the phone shut and stowed it. I couldn’t go insane. If I checked in as a permanent guest of the MC hospital’s Arkham psych wing, who’d run the register?

Wait. Dumas had been kidnapped. He’d validate me.

Glynn headed east. We were nearing Settler’s Square when he said, “There he is,” and broke into a run. Mishela was right behind. I limped along, finally catching sight of the saffron, lime and pink heap on the park bench.

Dumas wasn’t moving. His face stood out white as a sheet. I said, “Is he…?”

“No, he’s breathing.” Glynn touched a hand to Dumas’s neck. “And his heart’s beating.”

At Glynn’s touch the director groaned. His eyes fluttered open, focused slowly on Glynn. Dumas smiled. “Ah, heaven.”

Glynn snorted. “Not quite. Let’s get you sitting. You’ll be fine in a moment.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Dumas opened his mouth.

“You don’t remember,” Glynn said.

Dumas frowned. “I…I don’t remember. But—”

Glynn’s tone darkened. “You’re completely unharmed.”

“Completely unharmed,” Dumas echoed, eyes blanking.

“All’s well that ends well,” Mishela added brightly.

Good old Business Truth #4. And people think only fairy tales have morals. But I wasn’t going to dismiss it that easily. “Mr. Dumas, what
do
you remember? The fight, the kidnapper?”

Dumas’s eyes snapped to me. “The fight. I was sick.” The frown returned. “I remember crazy bright eyes, like pinwheels, and then…nothing. The next thing I remember is—” He smiled fatuously at Glynn. “My hero.”

Crazy pinwheels. Sounded like Dumas had been hypnotized, but why? And why kidnap him just to let him go?

And why Dumas and not Mishela, who was an heiress?

I’d thought Dumas would help me understand what was going on, but instead I only had more questions.

Just then the new dancing figurine cuckoo clock in Settler’s Square (sponsored by the Volka Polka radio station, “All Polkas, All the Time”) bonked, clanged and tweeted its quaint and touristy way through twelve strokes. Midnight. It was late, and I’d had a long and tiring day. “I need to get home.”

“Me too,” Dumas said from the park bench. “But I’m too weak to walk. Carry me?” He held his hands up to Glynn.

With a sigh, Glynn picked up Dumas and strode off. From the way Dumas’s arms clasped Glynn’s neck, fingers massaging those broad, jacketed shoulders, I thought maybe Dumas was faking the too-weak-to-walk a little.

Wish I’d thought of it first.

We slogged the six blocks to the sausage shop in silence. Glynn set Dumas on his feet at the front door. “Wait here.”

“But,” Dumas started.

Glynn didn’t even bother with his death-o-matic glare. Mishela clamped the director’s wrist while Glynn escorted me to the side entrance, where I turned to say goodbye.

A round mechanical eye stared me in the face.

I exploded. “Those penis heads.”

Glynn followed my glare and saw it too. Mounted on a plastic bracket on the brick wall across from us was a webcam.

Bad enough when the Cheese Dudes were peppering us with petty harassment. This stunk, and I don’t mean Limburger.

The webcam was aimed straight at our private door, so I was sure it wasn’t for customers. No, the Dudes had graduated from petty vandalism to voyeurism. Maybe to catch me and Glynn in action and hit us with charges of public indecency. And in case you’re thinking “big deal”, in the Corners we take public indecency as seriously as murder—unless it’s stripping in Nieman’s Bar, which is recreational nudity.

Glynn’s hand flashed under his jacket. He whipped something at the camera too fast to see.
Clunk-crash
.

The camera, plastic bracket neatly severed, hit walkway.

“Handy,” I said as he picked up his knife. “Titanium blade?”

He just shrugged and turned to me. His face was drawn with concern. “You’re all right after what happened?”

I blew a frustrated breath. “Elena made it clear that
nothing
happened. She didn’t say all the death blows were my imagination but…” But she’d pretty much implied it.

Glynn took my face in his hands. “
Babi
, if I could remove this horrible memory from you, I would. But since I can’t…there’s nothing wrong with your perceptions.”

“It wasn’t my imagination?” I searched his warm sapphire eyes. Looking for affirmation of my sanity? For connection, comfort, closeness…all a single dictionary letter away from duty and dream, but in reality, an uncrossable chasm.

“If this were my territory…” He heaved a breath. “Junior, I’m not saying anything—except you’re the bravest woman I know. Wrap those toes.”

I blinked. I hadn’t made an issue out of it, but he’d noticed.
He noticed
,
and hard on its heels,
he cares
. “I was trying to kick with the ball of my foot.”

“You did. The bastard moved last minute.” He gathered me into his arms. I let him, just for a moment, hungry for the warmth, for the simple contact. Just a moment. A moment wasn’t a lifetime.

And when he kissed me, I let him do that too.

His mouth was gentle, persuasive. His tongue was tender slipping along the seam of my lips.

A hug and a kiss. A simple connection, a bit of warmth and tenderness before I went back to duty and dreams.

My eyelids closed, drugged by soft sensation. I sighed.

At the cue, he cupped my head and his tongue stroked with more purpose, urging my mouth open. My lips parted and his tongue swept in.

He tasted fresh, exciting. Like the sweet grass of a spring field, ripe with adventure. Kissing him was like opening my mouth on a shout and swallowing fresh mountain air. Curling fingers over his shoulders, I raised myself for more.