Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(54)

Shaundell Mason was me. Well, actually she was a fake identity set up with a full social media presence and a complete history, but all the photos in which Shaundell appeared were me, Photoshopped with red or purple or green hair and glasses and ripped black jeans and goth T-shirts. Shaundell was a member of the ASPCA and PETA, financially supported four rescue shelters, and fostered dogs, cats, and, once, a squirrel. She liked heavy metal music and had grown up in a restrictive, fundamentalist church.

“You want me to meet her?” I didn’t believe that they’d let a probie meet with a source.

“She’s your age, went to private school, father’s a pastor from a hellfire-and-damnation church,” Tandy said. “She’s rebellious. Mad at the world. Your persona is all that and more. You’re perfect for the meet. And you’ve been chatting for hours about saving animals that have been abused, closing down labs that use animal experimentation and exploitation.”

Thoughtfully, Rick said, “Nell, if you dress the part and put on that red and purple wig, turn on that local church-speak, and tell her how much you hate church authority? You’ll be perfect. You up for it, probie?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but instead I said, “Sure.” Sure? Since when did I say sure?

“JoJo,” Rick said, “you dig deeper. T. Laine, you’re with the senator today. Watch for any signs of paranormal activity. Tandy and Occam, get some rest. Nell, go get some sleep. Anyone got anything else to add? Good. I want everyone here at four p.m., ready to roll, in place for surveillance at five. Meeting adjourned.” Rick stood and left the room. Soul was no longer standing in the doorway.

Sure? I said sure. I stood, tossed my trash, and went to the locker room for a hot shower. Not having to wait while my water heated would save me time when I got home. It would be better if I could put on jammies and be ready for bed before I even walked in the door, but sure as shootin’, I’d have a flat on the way home and have to change a tire in my pajamas. According to Mama, I’d burn in hell if I ever did something so irresponsible. Instead I slathered my homemade sandalwood-and-lavender-scented coconut oil over my body, and a mixture of hempseed oil, jojoba oil, and sweet almond oil on my face and throat, and put on clean undies with yesterday’s office clothes. I paused, wondering how I smelled to the cats and reminding myself to never add catnip to my body oils. I’d seen the result of catnip on Rick and his faithless mate, Paka. I ran a little of the facial oil through my short hair before I dried it. I left off makeup, even though I looked as pale as Yummy. Gathering up my gear and both gobags, I pushed through the door to the hallway. And stopped short.

Occam was sitting on the floor in front of the door, his back against the wall and his legs stretched across the hallway. I didn’t know if he was cat-claiming me or if he just felt calmer in my presence after the disturbing visit to DNAKeys. Either way I’d have to step over him. Which felt all kinds of wrong. No lady would—

I shot Occam a scowl that woulda set kindling on fire, hitched my bags higher, and stepped over his legs. Without stopping to see how he would react, I jogged down the steps to the outside. Men.

I drove away, ignoring Occam standing in the doorway. I had enough problems in my life without worrying about his catty self, this close to the three days of the full moon. Yeah. It was mighty awful sometimes. But I was tired of making allowances for cats.

Back home, I turned on the electric blanket that warmed my bed—a guilty secret I hadn’t told Mama about buying. Wasteful, she would call it, when I could put heated rocks in a bed warmer in the bed with me. But I didn’t have time for rocks to heat. I made up a fire in the cookstove and set a kettle on it for tea when I woke, then let the cats off the porch and inside. I fed them kibble and petted the ones who let me.

From my closet, I pulled out the threadbare jeans and the mismatched earrings and the thin, holey T-shirts. The scarlet and purple wig. The cheap high heels. Set them all on the bed. They looked perfectly awful on Leah’s hand-stitched velvet wedding-ring quilt. I stripped down and put on flannel pajamas and fell in the bed.

? ? ?

I woke to my cell pealing. It was two thirty, my alarm chiming. The cats were curled around me, purring. I had shoved a pillow beneath my knee, and my face was half buried in another pillow. I was toasty, but the room was icy. I could hear sleet peppering on the metal roof two stories above me and on the windows at the back of the house. I was groggy from too little sleep over the last few days, but I had to get up. I had a wig and undercover clothes to get into. I had a job to do. I was going undercover in my first-ever meet and greet with what I hoped would become a confidential source. I was going to lie and cheat and fake with every word and every move. I was ashamed. And excited.

I turned off the blanket, crawled out of the warmth, and shivered in the cold. I added two oak logs to the firebox, thinking again about that electric heater I hadn’t bought. I dressed in a hurry, the clothes warm from contact with the electric blanket. I stared at myself in the unfamiliar clothes, the ones bought for my undercover persona by JoJo and T. Laine on what they called a “girls’ night out.” I looked long and lean in the tight jeans and the tall heels, but also odd, half-finished.

So I made it worse.

I shoved my hair up under the stocking skullcap and situated the wig in place. Put on the earrings, one a real Cherokee Indian arrowhead wrapped in silver wire, the other a silver hoop big enough to catch on my clothes. I’d have to be careful not to hurt myself. I hadn’t had pierced ears for long and I might snag the earrings and yank the jewelry through the earholes. I drew on heavy eyeliner in shades of green and purple with a thick band of black. Layered on the mascara. I added powder to make me paler. And pale lipstick.