The lieutenant and his men had been very much in sight since that first meeting last Thaisday. Not a dominance challenge or anything foolish like that. More like a quiet version of a Wolf howl—a way to say we are here. Kowalski had come in and bought a couple of the horror books the day after the arguments had closed HGR and A Little Bite.
Simon wasn’t sure Kowalski or his female was interested in those kinds of books or if it had been an excuse to look around. He had a feeling the police officer had been as relieved not to see any fresh bloodstains as the other customers were disappointed by that lack of excitement.
The lieutenant approached the counter. “Mr. Wolfgard.”
“Lieutenant Montgomery.” Simon absorbed the look on the face, the expression in the dark eyes, and the smell of nerves that wasn’t quite fear. “You aren’t here to buy a book.”
“No, sir, I’m not.” Montgomery pulled a piece of paper out of his sports coat pocket, unfolded it, and set it on the counter between them. “I came to show you this.”
His mind took in the words most wanted and grand theft, but what he saw was the picture of Meg.
He didn’t realize he was snarling until Montgomery eased away from him, a hand brushing the overcoat and sports jacket out of the way in order to reach the gun. Knowing what he would do if the hand touched the gun, he stared hard into Montgomery’s eyes. The man instinctively froze, not even daring to breathe.
Satisfied that Montgomery wouldn’t do anything foolish—at least not right now—Simon looked at the poster again.
“It’s not a fuzzy picture,” he said after a moment. “So why is there no name?”
Montgomery shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I watch your news shows sometimes. When you catch a picture of someone stealing in a store or bank and don’t know them, the picture is fuzzy. When you have a picture like that”—he pointed at the poster—“the police always know the name of their prey.”
He’d known she was running from someone. He’d known Meg Corbyn wasn’t her name. He should have let her freeze in the snow instead of taking her in. But now that she was in, what happened to her was his decision.
“Why is there no name?” Simon asked again.
He watched Montgomery study the poster and smelled the man’s uneasiness.
“Looks like an ID photo, doesn’t it?” Montgomery said softly. “Like a driver’s license photo or . . .” He reached into a pocket, pulled out the leather holder, and flipped it open to show his own ID. Then he put the holder back in his pocket. “If someone could supply that kind of photo, why wouldn’t they be able to supply the name?”
Simon was going to get an answer to that question. He’d decide later if that answer was something he would share with humans.
Taking the poster, he refolded it and slipped it into his trouser pocket. “I’ll talk to the members of our Business Association. If we have any information about this person, we’ll let you know.”
“I must emphasize that we’re looking to apprehend and question this person about the theft.”
Simon smiled, deliberately showing his teeth—especially the canines that he hadn’t been able to get all the way back to human size. “I understand. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Lieutenant Montgomery. We’ll be in touch.”
Dismay. Worry. But Montgomery had sense enough to walk out of the store without further argument. There was nothing the police could do about whatever happened in the Courtyard.
He waited a few moments, then called Vlad.
“Simon,” Vlad said. “Nyx and I need to talk to you.”
“Later,” Simon replied, trying not to snap. “The Business Association has something to discuss. I need you to call them. I want everyone who’s available in the meeting room in an hour. And call Blair and Jester. I want them there too. And a representative from the Owlgard, Hawkgard, and Crowgard.”
“Anyone else?” Vlad asked quietly.
He knew why Vlad asked the question, just like he knew which group of terra indigene was being left out of this discussion. But they were never interested in such things.
“No, that should be sufficient,” Simon said.
“In an hour, then. But, Simon, we still need to talk. It’s important.”
Simon hung up. Then he shouted for Heather, passing her on his way to the stockroom. “Man the register and work on filling the orders. Call John. Tell him to come in.”
He put on his coat and boots for the walk to the Liaison’s Office. That was acting civilized and controlled. If he didn’t stay in control . . .
She lied to him.
. . . he was going to shift to Wolf, and they would never be able to clean up the blood well enough to hire someone else after he tore her throat out so she couldn’t lie to him anymore.
The office’s back door wasn’t locked, so he slipped inside, removed his boots, and padded across the back room in his socks. He could hear low music even through the closed door that connected to the sorting room. As he entered the room, he saw Meg take a CD out of the player and say, “I don’t like that music.”
“Then why listen to it?” he asked.
She whirled around, wobbling to keep her balance. She put the CD back in its case and made a notation on a notebook sitting next to the player before answering him. “I’m listening to a variety of music to discover what I like.”
Why don’t you know what you like?
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wolfgard? Today’s mailbag hasn’t arrived yet, but there are a few pieces of old mail. I put them in HGR’s spot.” She indicated the cubbyholes in the sorting room’s back wall. “Also, I’m still not clear if the ponies deliver mail to the Market Square businesses or if someone from the businesses is supposed to stop in for that mail.”
Right now he didn’t care about the mail or packages or any other damn monkey thing.
He took the poster out of his pocket, opened it, and set it on the table. “No more lies,” he said, his voice a growl of restrained menace. “What happens next will depend on whether you answer two questions honestly.”
She stared at the poster. Her face paled. She swayed, and he told himself to let the bitch fall if she fainted.
“He found me,” she whispered. “I wondered after the other night, but I thought . . . hoped . . .” She swallowed, then looked at him. “What do you want to know?”
The bleakness in her eyes made him just as angry as her lies.
“What was your name, and what did you steal?” Couldn’t have been a small thing. They wouldn’t be hunting for her like this if it was a small thing.
“My name is Meg Corbyn.”
“That’s the name you took when you came here,” he snapped. “What was it before?”
Her expression was an odd blend of anger and pride. It made him wary because it reminded him that she was inexplicably not prey.
“My designation was cs759,” she said.
“That’s not a name!”
“No, it isn’t. But it’s all they gave me. All they gave any of us. A designation. People give names to their pets, but property isn’t deserving of a name. If you give them designations instead of names, then you don’t have to think about what you’re doing to them, don’t have to consider if property has feelings when you . . .”
Her eyes stayed locked on his, despite her sudden effort to breathe.
Simon stayed perfectly still. If he moved, fangs and fury would break loose. What did they do to you, Meg?