Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(50)
From nowhere, a grindylow leaped onto Occam’s back, her neon green coat looking yellowish in the outside lights. “Ow,” Occam said, grabbing her and tossing her to Rick as they walked.
The SAC caught her in midair and placed her on his shoulders without missing a step. He blew out a breath in a cloud and cocked his head, catlike. His eyes were glowing green in the parking lot’s security lights. The shadows of the men lengthened and shortened as they walked. I followed. When Rick spoke it wasn’t to the grindy, which he petted almost in a reflex, but to Occam. “I’m a black wereleopard. My melanistic coat is perfect for night hunting. Your spotted one is more visible.”
“I’m more sneaky.” Occam opened the driver’s door of his fancy car. “When you’re in cat form, you’re thinking like a cat in the wild, not like a human, and your cat’s out of control. Not a good thing on an op.”
“I’m SAC.” Rick got in the passenger side, tossing the grindy to the dash.
“Which means jack nothing, Hoss. I’m better qualified and you know it.”
“We have protocol—” The car doors closed. The engine roared and they drove away. Leaving me standing there alone in the parking lot.
I put both fists on my hips and huffed in disgust, watching their taillights, my small gobag over my shoulder. I turned and waved at the very obvious security camera over the door to HQ, knowing that Tandy had seen the entire exchange. Upstairs, the lights in the office blinked off and back on. The fact that I had been abandoned had been acknowledged. Tandy was probably all worried about me. If it had been JoJo she would have been laughing so hard she’d snort coffee. I had seen that happen. Had to hurt.
I got in my truck, punched the address into my cellular GPS, and pulled into the street. I had driven a mile when my cell rang. It was Occam. I scowled at the cell and let it go to voice mail. Twice. On the third try I punched accept and said, “What?”
“Nell, sugar. Where are you?” Occam sounded properly quiet and deferential. “We left you in the parking lot. I’m sorry.”
An apology went a long way to fixing things, but I had been raised with men who treated women with less respect than they did other men. “Yes,” I said. “You did. And I got in my truck, and I turned it on, and I am driving. Alone. I am perfectly capable of arriving at the correct GPS on this, my first level-two nighttime op. I will see you there.” I hit end.
JoJo and T. Laine would both say I was being bitchy. And then they’d high-five me and say, “Give ’em hell, girl.” A woman had to stand up to men, even in this new, modern world. Women always did. And never more so than with alpha males who seemed to have a cat rivalry of some sort going on. I just hadn’t thought it would be Occam who made me defend myself this time. Tears prickled my eyes, and ruthlessly I squashed them. That was stupid. I would not cry because men acted in human character and in cat character.
I took a right and headed toward Millertown Pike, and then Rutledge Pike, also known as Highway 11 West. As I drove, I thought about Benjamin and what would have happened had he been in Occam’s place. He’d have asked me to bring him a cup of coffee and maybe have a good dinner waiting for him when he got back. The likelihood of him even thinking about me going on any mission was low to none. A woman’s presence on such a mission would have been considered valueless. Occam just forgot about me. Or his cat did.
Men. Dang ’em all. My hands tightened on the wheel and I followed the cell phone’s directions out of Knoxville.
? ? ?
DNAKeys’ research facility was out of town, down a narrow, privately maintained, paved road on the far side of House Mountain State Natural Area. There were no streetlights this far out of town and no visible security measures, but there was also no gated entrance, so the lack of obvious security measures was likely occult—not meaning paranormal, meaning hidden. Occam’s fancy car—a 2015 Ford Mustang two-door Fastback GT with all the bells and whistles—was parked in the dark off the side of the road and down a little-used driveway with an overgrown For Sale sign in the weeds, about a mile from the turnoff to the facility. I pulled in behind it, turned off the engine and the lights, and closed my eyes, letting them adapt to night vision. As I waited, I set my comms earbud in my ear, adjusted the mic, and hooked the comms system at my waistband. When my vision was more attuned to the night, I got out, carrying my flash, which I didn’t turn on, and walked around the fancy car.
The men were nowhere to be seen, which meant they were changing shape or were already hunting. They hadn’t been that far ahead of me so I was betting on shape-shifting somewhere out in the dark. I sniffed and listened to the night, taking in the smells and the sounds. A little exhaust. My coffee. Something musky. The wereleopards, most likely. I heard no sounds except what might be the far-off hum of cars. In the distance were city lights. Closer were security lights, which I assumed would be DNAKeys’.
I returned to my truck and sat, engine and lights still off, in the growing cold, sipping coffee from my insulated mug, strong and black. The caffeine was a drug, too bitter to be a froufrou drink, too strong to be my “regular.” I waited, my senses straining into the dark, kneading my rooty middle, literally putting my fingers on my non-humanness. The cold seeped into me, and I pulled the pink blanket over me. I had rescued it from the truck bed and it no longer felt like maggots.