Ripper (Hunter #1)(76)

I sank into the seat next to her. It didn’t surprise me that the alpha was making trouble. He’d seemed to be looking for it last night. “What’s he saying?”

“That the vampires have made us their slaves. It’s the same thing he’s been saying since the king forced him to shut down his gambling businesses. It cost him a lot of money,” Helen said wearily. “I think the werewolf alpha is trying to start a rebellion and he’s using my daughter. I don’t care about any of it. I want to know who killed my daughter. I know I didn’t pay you much…”

“It was enough.” I didn’t mention Quinn’s money. I wouldn’t have stopped even if he hadn’t stepped up. I would still be here. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Mrs. Taylor. I promise.”

Her hand came out to slowly pat mine. It was a motherly gesture, soothing and second nature to her. “You’re a good girl, Kelsey. Find out who killed my daughter. I trust you. You won’t allow politics to sway you.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know enough about politics to let it sway me,” I admitted.

“Why don’t you go back inside?” She let her face find the sun. “I like the peace out here. I think I’ll sit for a while.”

I started to get up and had made it to the door when her soft voice made me turn once more.

“Kelsey?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“When you find him, what do you intend to do?”

“I intend to kill him, ma’am,” I said because it was the truth.

“Like I said, you’re a good girl. No one fights for us. It would be nice for once to have someone on our side.”

Now it wasn’t guilt, but responsibility that ate at me. If this really was a vampire—the mysterious Alexander—then the Council would likely want it hushed up.

I couldn’t allow that to happen.

The screen door closed behind me and I could see easily why Helen Taylor wanted to stay outside. The minute I walked into the house, I was struck by the oppressiveness of the grief. I thought it odd that when Helen needed solitude to think and let it all sink in that she was bombarded with people. I walked through the small kitchen crowded with relatives and friends. The table was laden with food. I noted the requisite Jell-O mold hadn’t been touched yet, but then it didn’t seem like many people were eating. Even my appetite seemed to have fled.

I could hear Marcus quietly arguing with Castle in the laundry room. He was trying to keep it down, but Castle had no such qualms. Gray was off to the side, sifting through some papers. It was probably the letter and the photos Helen had received. He would take them into evidence, but she would never forget.

Then I sensed someone watching me. I stopped, not turning. Most people would avert their eyes at that point, but I still felt them on me. I didn’t want a fight, but I also couldn’t walk away. When I turned, I realized a fight might have been better.

“Do you think it hurt?”

My heart sure as hell hurt looking down at Nancy Taylor, aged fifteen, who had seen far more death in her young life than any kid should. She was painfully thin in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the name of some rock band I’d never heard of. I was sure when she’d gotten dressed this morning she hadn’t been thinking she’d attend a wake.

“I don’t know,” I answered, knowing I was probably lying. In this, I couldn’t give her the truth. It helped no one and offered so much pain. “I hope not.”

“You’re the PI my mom hired, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

I cast a short look back at Gray and Marcus. “Okay.”

I followed Nancy down the hall and into her room. It was an explosion of teenaged girl. There were posters of rock stars and actors and cutout photos of the “hot guys” from magazines alongside pictures of girls and their shining, smiling faces. There were several photos of Nancy and her sister. She was neat for a teen, meaning I could kind of see the floor. I wasn’t exactly OCD so I couldn’t complain.

“My mom says you’re a hunter,” Nancy started, her brown eyes wary.

“I don’t hunt like that.” Oddly, I didn’t feel the same rush of shame today. I simply explained to her. I was able to meet her eyes as though the night before had purged the shame I’d always felt. I was able to breathe.

“So you don’t hunt people like me. You hunt bad guys.”

That pretty neatly summed up my new chosen profession. I hunted bad guys. The only way to make up for what my father did was to stop other people from doing it. “I try to.”

“That’s cool,” the teenager said. “My dad was killed by a hunter, but not one like you.”

Again, no rush of guilt, only a deep sympathy for what had happened. “I know. Your mom told me. I’m sorry about that.”

“Mom thinks Jo was doing bad things.”

Wow, how had I gotten into this conversation? It was a veritable field full of land mines. “Your sister was trying to get by like the rest of us. She wasn’t bad.”

The girl shook her blonde hair. The ponytail was like an exclamation point. “That’s not what I mean. I mean Jo wasn’t doing it for the reason you think she was.”