This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(77)

“Our illustrious council liaison, and the poor man who married into the family of a serial killer.”

Wallace blinks, but then chuckles. “That’s one way of putting it.” He shakes Mathias’s hand as I introduce them properly.

Then I say, “Your timing is perfect. I was just about to tell Phil that you’ve volunteered to take and train this cub as a guard and hunting dog. But I’m afraid he’s going to tell you no.”

“No?” Mathias says, as if he doesn’t recognize the word. He turns to Phil and fixes him with a smile that has sent many a resident skittering from the butcher shop. “You wish to tell me I cannot have this cub, Philip? That is unfortunate. I was very much looking forward to it.”

“I never said—”

“Excellent. Then we are agreed. I will quarantine and then train it properly, as a working beast.” He hefts the cub from my arms. “The next serial killer must escape the jaws of a wolf if he wishes to flee.” He pauses. “Or she. I would not wish to be sexist.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to guard more serial killers, okay? Now Mr. Wallace is taking my old house while he’s here, so you’ll need to care for the cub.”

Mathias says in French, “You realize you cannot take it back now. You have committed to the course. All for the sake of tweaking poor Philip.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“A cruel streak. This is why I like you.” He takes the bag of supplies from my hand and switches to English. “Do you know where Philip will stay? I do not believe we have empty apartments.”

“We can move Kenny out and place him under guard,” I say. “Then let Phil take the house we built for Oliver.”

“The windowless box you built for Oliver?” Phil says. “I am certainly not—”

“Yes,” Mathias says. “That would be wrong. You must stay with me. Ah, no—I mean us.” He hefts the canine. “Please. I insist.”

Phil’s jaw works, as if he knows he’s being played here. Then he says, his voice tight, “Oliver’s intended residence will be adequate.”



We leave the men to settle into their lodgings and we resume our search for Oliver Brady. We’re out until dark, and I’m putting my extra gear in the locker when Isabel comes in and says, “We need a fourth for poker.”

I laugh. Hard.

“I’m serious,” she says.

I close the equipment locker. “I’m exhausted, Isabel. I’m going home with Eric, to a hot meal, a warm bed, and as much sleep as I can get.”

“Eric won’t be joining you for a while. There’s a problem with the lumber-shed reconstruction.”

“Of course there is.”

“So, poker?” she says.

I shake my head. “If Eric’s busy, I’m going to have that hot meal waiting when he’s done.”

“That’s very domestic of you.”

“No, it’s considerate.”

“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use, having heard Will and Eric discuss your cooking.” She follows me from the equipment shed. “One of the cooks at the Lion owes me a favor. I’ll have her prepare something to put aside for both of you.”

“Then I’ll rest—”

“That word is not in your vocabulary, Casey.” She keeps pace alongside me. “If you want a rest, you’ll find it in our poker game. It’s an all-estrogen event. You, me, Petra, and Diana.”

“Since when do you play poker—or socialize with Diana?”

“Since I requested her presence at this particular game. I know you and I both would have preferred Nicole, but she’s busy with the search. Diana is joining us in a wake for the loss of one of our own.”

I slow. “Val.”

“Yes, and while you might not want the reminder, I think we owe it to Val.”

I nod and follow her.





43





We’re in the Roc. Isabel has closed it for the night, both the bar and the brothel. There would normally be two women on “duty” in the evening. There are about six on staff. I say “about” because the number fluctuates, as women come and go from the ranks, most just deciding they’re going to give it a try for a few months, for fun.

Isabel argues there is sexual liberation in that, and it isn’t so much monetizing their bodies as experimenting with a traditionally more masculine form of sexuality, taking partners where and when they want, without emotional risk. Sounds great. The reality, though, is that if one of them refuses an offer, she has to deal with the prospective client outside these walls, and having a woman refuse paid sex is apparently more of an ego blow than just refusing sex. I dealt with an incident recently where the rejected john found a way to retaliate.

When we arrive at the Roc, there’s a hopeful client walking inside just ahead of us, and Isabel pulls open the door just in time to see him sidling up to Petra and Diana, with a “So, are you ladies looking for—”

Then Petra turns and he sees who it is and stops short with an “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” Isabel calls. “Have I spoken to you about this before, Artie? You do not ever presume that a woman drinking here is looking for anything but a drink.”