Second Nature Page 13

  "Yes? Who's there?" she called even though the scent of coconut and grass growing in spring told her who was standing on the other side of the door.

  "It's me." Jorie's voice was low and husky from lack of sleep.

  No first name was added to identify herself. I still have more work to do until she really starts to trust me.

  Without further delay, Griffin swung open the door.

  "Hey," Jorie said, lingering in the doorway. She looked tired, but her gaze attentively traveled over Griffin and took in the change of clothes.

  Griffin realized that Jorie hadn't taken the time to shower. "If you want to shower before we go to the pancake place..." She pointed to the bathroom.

  "I don't think that would be a good idea," Jorie said, lifting up her bandaged left arm. The movement made the sleeves of her sweatshirt slip up, and Griffin swallowed at the sight of forming bruises. "I'm supposed to keep it dry. I'll cover it with a plastic bag or something and take a shower when I get home. "

  The offer to help lingered on Griffin's tongue, but she said nothing. Humans weren't as comfortable being naked in front of others as Wrasa were, and Jorie was probably no exception.

  Jorie straightened her shoulders. "Ready to go? Did you make all your calls?"

  "Yes. Getting my driver's license replaced while I'm in Michigan will take some paperwork, but I'll go over to the bank later and get a temporary ATM card, so I won't starve to death on my vacation," Griffin said with a wink.

  "I'll pay for breakfast," Jorie said. "I had some cash stashed away at home."

  She feels guilty because my wallet was stolen while I was helping her with her book, Griffin realized. It was exactly what she had hoped would happen, but now that it had, she couldn't feel good about it.

  "Come on," Jorie said. "Let's go get that breakfast I promised you."

  * * *

  Jorie leaned her elbows on the edge of the table, careful not to hit her injured arm, and watched in astonishment as Griffin took a healthy bite of yet another pancake. "This is what... your sixth pancake?"

  Griffin's fork traveled leisurely to her mouth. Sensual lips wrapped around it and stripped the fork of the last piece of pancake. Griffin chewed and swallowed thoroughly. "You're counting what I eat for breakfast?" She flashed a grin of exaggerated disbelief.

  "Hey, don't blame me. My mother is a math teacher, so I was counting things at the breakfast table before I could even spell pancake." The casual remark was out before Jorie had time to think about it. She leaned back, trying to put at least some physical distance between herself and Griffin. Normally, she didn't just give away information about herself or her family. Realizing how comfortable she was beginning to feel with Griffin made her feel decidedly... uncomfortable. Her presence might have saved your life yesterday, she told her warring instincts. Maybe her mother was right and it was time to start making friends.

  Griffin took another bite of her syrupless pancake.

  "Where do you put that? You don't have a hollow leg, do you?" Jorie teased.

  "No." Griffin slapped her solid thighs. "No hollow leg. I'm simply starved. Rescuing damsels in distress burns a lot of calories."

  Jorie's gaze sneaked up Griffin's face and along her head, where she knew the reddish-blond hair covered an egg-sized bump. While Griffin hadn't exactly rescued her, she still felt guilty. Never before had anyone been injured because of her. It wasn't a nice feeling. She shoved back her plate with the last bites of uneaten pancake. "Listen. I apologize if I came across as ungrateful and cold when you got hurt yesterday," she said, swallowing hard. "I'm used to being on my own, and I don't deal well with feeling like I owe other people something." If she had read Griffin right, she probably could relate to that. She clearly was a loner too and didn't like depending on other people, not even her family. She's like Quinn... a lone tiger. Part of a possible scene flashed through her mind. Her fingers itched to grab her notebook and write it down.

  "It's okay. You weren't ungrateful," Griffin said. She cocked her head and studied Jorie. "What's wrong?"

  "Wrong?"

  Griffin's gaze slid over her again. "Yes. You're looking like your cat, Agatha, when she smelled the turkey on my sandwich... as if you just discovered something that you want but know you can't have."

  Embarrassment warmed Jorie's skin. Since when am I so easy to read? For someone who had once made her living playing poker, it was a scary thought. "I just thought of a possible scene." She hesitated but then barged ahead. Griffin had been understanding about her writing so far. "Do you mind if I write it down before I forget it?"

  "Go right ahead," Griffin said and winked at her. "At least then you'll be too busy to count how much I'm eating."

  A second later, her ever-present pen and notebook were in her hands. "Sorry," Jorie said, not looking up from her writing. "That's one of the dangers of having breakfast with a writer. We get ideas for a scene at the oddest moments and then immediately have to write them down."

  "One of the dangers?" Griffin asked with a laugh. "So there are others?"

  "Almost getting killed by an armed thief wasn't dangerous enough for you?"

  "Ah, yes, that was enough danger for now. We should try to walk on the tame side for a while," Griffin said and washed down the last of her pancake with her herbal tea. "And just for the record: you don't owe me anything, J.W."

  Don't I? Jorie lowered her pen. She noticed that Griffin was still calling her by her pseudonym. Not that Jorie didn't feel at home being called J.W. Her pseudonym, her identity as a writer, was a big part of her. Still, her acquaintance with Griffin was rapidly exceeding the distanced relationship between a writer and an expert who helped her with a few research questions. "I think I owe you at least one thing: letting you know my real name."

  Griffin laid down her fork and knife and pushed her empty plate back to give Jorie her full attention. "Only if you're comfortable sharing it with me," she said.

  The lack of pressure from Griffin made the decision easier. "My name is Jorie," she said quietly.

  "Jorie..." Griffin's voice gave the name a gentle, exotic cadence. She extended her hand across the table. "Nice to meet you, Jorie."

  Laughter bubbled up. Her discomfort fell away. She laid her hand in Griffin's bigger one. "The pleasure is mine."

  * * *

  Closing the door between her and the rest of the world was a relief. Griffin leaned against the wall for a few moments and breathed in the air of the room that smelled only of her and the Wrasa maid, with none of the flavors of human emotions. Except for her thirty-minute walk through the forest early this morning, this was the first time she was alone and didn't have to pretend. She had been in Jorie's company for the last twenty-four hours. It felt even longer.

  Not that Jorie Price wasn't pleasant company when she allowed herself to give up her cool reserve — she was, and that was part of the problem. Jorie, her calm, and her sense of humor got Griffin to relax, and that could be dangerous. While undercover, she couldn't afford to let down her guard for even a moment.

  She crossed the room and took a bottle of water, two hard-boiled eggs, a little cheese, and a bowl of salad from the mini fridge. Someone had filled a basket with fresh bread. Cutlery was arranged next to it.

  Ah. Griffin grinned with satisfaction. Human bed-and-breakfasts don't have this kind of room service. Even after six pancakes, her body was still telling her she needed more calories to make up for the energy that shifting had taken. She breathed in, savoring the nutty aroma of the cheese. Her mouth watered. Fresh salad crunched as she took her first bite. Mmm.

  With regret, she put down the fork. Duty before pleasure. It was the first thing Saru instructors drilled into cat-shifters. She reached for the phone and dialed Cedric Jennings's number, knowing he was already waiting for her progress report.

  * * *

  "Cyrus? Is that you?" his father's baritone reached Cedric as soon as he entered the house.

  Cedric bit his lip until he tasted blood.
It mingled with the bitter taste of envy, grief, and anger that filled his mouth. "It's me — Cedric," he answered.

  His brother Cyrus hadn't entered the house in over four years. Cyrus was dead, choked to death in a human's insidious snare. The poacher had killed not only Cyrus but was slowly strangling the life out of his father and the rest of the family too.

  Four years ago, Gregory Jennings had been the leader of a large pack and a proud officer of the Saru. Now he was a broken man, tortured by grief and a mysterious sickness. Cedric had long since suspected that his father was suffering from something that was similar to human Alzheimer's. No Wrasa had ever been afflicted by the disease. Even very old Wrasa kept their minds as sharp as their claws. At least that was how it had been in the past. Nowadays, Wrasa started to suffer from formerly unknown diseases. Cedric knew it was an outcry of nature, a warning to let them know that their kind was in trouble. If they didn't increase their numbers and start living in harmony with nature again, all that would be left of them in a few generations were just a few stupid horror stories that humans used to scare their children.

  Cedric walked into the living room.

  His father was sitting on the couch, once strong shoulders slouching. He looked up as Cedric entered. There was none of his old strength and pride in the gaze that connected with Cedric's. "How did it go in Oregon?" Gregory asked.

  "California," Cedric said. "It was a waste of time. They should have sent me to Michigan instead."

  "Then you should have made them send you." Gregory's voice was as firm as the unyielding gray of his eyes. A spark of his old power lit up those eyes. He was still good at hurling orders. "Cyrus would have..."

  Cedric stopped listening. He already knew what his father was telling him. It was always the same: Cyrus was better. Cyrus was faster. Cyrus was stronger. Cyrus was more intelligent. It had been that way when Cyrus was alive, and it certainly was that way now that he was dead. Dead people made no mistakes. Cyrus was frozen in perfection in his father's memory.

  Never before had Cedric envied Cyrus his position as their father's favorite. They had been as different as day and night from the start — in personality and in looks. While Cedric's white fur stood out in his family, Cyrus's wolf coat had been the same color as their father's: black like the forest by night, with just a few lighter shades along their bellies, like moonlight trickling in through the canopy of the dark forest.

  Still, despite all their differences, they had loved and respected each other. Cedric had known if he did his job well and proved himself worthy, his time would come. Instead of being envious, his brother's strengths had inspired him to work harder, become stronger.

  Now everything had changed. He couldn't compete with a dead man. In his father's faulty memory, he would never measure up.

  Resentment slowly strangled his love for his brother, as the poacher's snare had strangled Cyrus. Humans had killed Cyrus not once, but twice. Fiery hatred raged through Cedric. Humans poisoned everything, even his feelings for his brother. He would do everything he could to make sure that humans didn't destroy his family, his pack, his whole species more than they already had.

  When the phone rang, he left his father behind to ramble on about Cyrus and how he would have mastered the situation.

  * * *

  "I heard you got the notebook," Jennings said as soon as Griffin had said hello. "So your plan went well."

  Well? A snarl tickled the back of her throat. Nothing about the plan had gone well. "It was a disaster. Jorie Price got hurt." The scene replayed itself in her mind, as it had a hundred times before.

  "The Maki said it was just a scratch." Jennings didn't sound concerned about it at all. He wouldn't lose any sleep over the pain they had caused Jorie. To him, it was just collateral damage.

  Jorie's wound was barely more than a scratch. Still, it could have easily been so much worse. "He lost control," Griffin said, her voice raspy. Losing control while on a mission, accidentally killing a human, was a fear she had lived with for quite some time. "Next time that happens, we might not be so lucky. He might kill an innocent human or reveal our existence. He's a loose cannon. I want the Maki pulled from active duty."

  "That's my decision, not yours." Jennings's voice was calm but held a warning edge. "You just focus on your assignment. Do you have a name for me? Someone who might have given her the information about us?"

  Griffin bared her teeth in a silent snarl. She didn't like to admit it, but she still didn't know more about where Jorie's inside information was coming from than she had when she'd arrived in Michigan. Her clever plan hadn't achieved anything but getting Jorie hurt. "It's not that easy. The notebook and all the notes she has lying around the house show nothing suspicious. Leigh didn't find anything on her computer either, and a local Wrasa who is a cop dumped her cell phone for me. Not even a hint of contact with any Wrasa. I'm beginning to think that maybe there is no traitor, no inside source."

  "Her information has to come from somewhere," Jennings said. "You have to work harder to find the leak. Bring me some information I can work with."

  Nice suggestion, but how am I supposed to do that? Angry words crawled up her throat, and she swallowed them back down. Because she was a cat-shifter, he didn't expect the same level of obedience from her that he would expect from a Syak, but he was still her commanding officer. He wouldn't tolerate disrespect. "Jorie Price isn't making it easy," she said through clenched teeth.

  "Did you expect her to do that? Did you expect her to burn her manuscript and give up the name of her informant without you having to lift a paw?" Jennings asked sharply.

  Griffin counted to ten, first in English, then in the old language. It was a human technique that was supposed to calm her, but it wasn't helping much. "No, of course not."

  "After all the trouble we went to, we're still not even one step closer to finding out if and how she knows about our existence," Jennings said.

  His frank words made her anger grow. Griffin had to admit that he was right, and it added to her frustration.

  "Maybe I should take over the investigation," Jennings said.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. Was he insinuating that he was a better investigator than she was? That he would find out more from Jorie than she did? She bit back a sarcastic laugh. Oh, good luck with that. Jorie wouldn't react well to his wolf-in-a-china-shop approach. To get close to her, you need a cat's patience and sensitivity.

  "I already have Jorie's trust," she said. "You can't just replace me." She hadn't wanted the assignment in the beginning. If it had been her choice, she would still be in Arkansas, strolling through her forest at night, instead of spying on an unsuspecting writer who lived in her fathers' territory. But the assignment had been handed to her anyway. Now it was her mission and her responsibility. Her possessive instincts didn't like the intrusion. Once she had taken control of a mission, it was hers, no matter how dangerous, frustrating, or difficult it might be. She didn't trust anyone else not to make a mess of things.

  "All right — for now," Jennings said. "But I expect to have more from you on your next update. Hunt down every lead."

  Griffin had never liked direct orders, especially not when they pointed out obvious things that she had planned on doing anyway. The stiff rank structure of the Saru wasn't her favorite concept either. You chose this job, so now deal with it. She hung up the phone and stretched out on the bed.

  Okay. Calm down and think. Her fingers trailed up and down the outer seam of her pant leg. I need to immerse myself into Jorie's life, find out more about who she socializes with, and get my paws on that notebook in the bedroom. How could she manage all that without Jorie becoming suspicious? Think. This is the same situation like this morning when you were brainstorming story ideas with Jorie. If you were a writer, how would you get character A to meet character B again?

  * * *

  The sound of the doorbell shattered the silence.

  Jorie jerked in surprise, almost toppling over her sod
a. At the very last moment, she caught the can and prevented it from spilling all over her keyboard. Irritated at the interruption, she padded to the door and glanced through the peephole.

  A stranger was standing on her veranda. Tawny hair fell out from under his baseball cap that had the logo of a security firm on it.

  That was fast. She had called the security company only an hour ago.

  When she opened the door, he took off his cap and flashed her a friendly smile. "Ms. Price? I'm Sid Eldridge from Eldridge Security."

  Another Sid. Jorie took it as a good sign, let him in, and closed the door behind him. Before she could explain what she wanted him to do, the doorbell rang again.

  "You didn't call the competition too, did you?" Sid Eldridge asked with another sparkling smile.

  They both knew there was no competition. Eldridge Security was the only security firm in the area.

  Jorie frowned. She led a solitary life, and with two visitors, she felt crowded. "One moment, please," she said to Sid and went to look through the peephole again.

  All she could see was red fur.

  Then she realized that it was Will, his one front paw settled over Griffin's shoulder while she held him safely with one of her big hands. Her other hand was smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her clothes while she waited. The nervous gesture was so incongruous with her intimidating size that Jorie had to smile. Sometimes Griffin reminded her of an overgrown cat.

  Two pairs of amber eyes swung her way when she opened the door.

  "Hello," she said, looking awkwardly at her unexpected visitor.

  "I know it's presumptuous of me to just show up on your doorstep unannounced, but I forgot to have you sign this, and I didn't want to miss the opportunity." Griffin pulled a book out from under her jacket and pressed it into Jorie's hands.

  One glance down showed her the cover of her vampire novel. Jorie bit her lip. No one had ever requested an autograph from her. It was a strange feeling. "I'll sign it for you."

  "I also brought you a book about tigers." Griffin, still lingering in the doorway, handed her another book.