Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson(103)

I didn’t mind. Kyle was worth waiting a bit for. And, like I said, I’m pretty good at waiting anyhow.

A noise out in the hall had me pulling my feet off the desk just before the outer door opened and a young woman in a sleek red dress with a big string of pearls around her throat entered the office in a wave of Chanel No. 5; she was stunning.

“Hey,” she said with a big smile and a dark breathy voice. “Are you Kyle Brooks?” Her ears had pearls in them, too. Her hands were bare, though I could see that she’d recently been wearing a wedding ring. Dating a divorce attorney makes me notice things like that.

“No, ma’am,” I told her. “After hours here. Best you try him tomorrow.”

She leaned over Angelina’s desk and the low-cut dress did what sleek little dresses are built to do in such circumstances. If I ran that way, I might have counted it a treat for the eyes. “I have to find Kyle Brooks.”

She was close enough that the feel of her breath brushed my face. Mostly mint toothpaste. Mostly.

“Well, now,” I said, standing up slowly and sauntering around the desk as if I found her all sorts of interesting. Which I all-of-a-sudden surely did. “Just what do you want with Kyle, darlin’?”

Her smile died and she looked worried. “I have to find him. I have to. Can you help me?”

Kyle’s office was down the hall and in the back. I could hear the woman he was with talking at him as she had been for the past half hour.

“Think I can,” I said, and led her the opposite direction, to the big conference room at the other end of the offices. “Stay right here for a couple of minutes,” I told her. “He’ll be right in.”

She’d followed me docilely and stopped where I told her to. I shut the door on her and hightailed it back to Kyle’s office.

I opened the door without knocking and ignored Kyle’s frown. “Would you do me a favor?” I asked, tossing him my cell phone. “Call Elizaveta—her number is under w.” Under witch; he’d figure it out, he was a smart man. “Tell her we have an incident, a her kinda incident, we’d like some help with. ’Scuse me, ma’am.” I tipped my nonexistent hat to his indignant client before turning back to Kyle. “Might be the kind of thing we should clear the offices for.”

“Your kind of thing?” Kyle asked obliquely. Something supernatural, he meant.

“That’s right.” I ducked out of his office and ran back to the conference room.

“One minute seventeen,” the beautiful woman was saying when I rejoined her.

She stopped counting when the door opened, her body tense. When she saw me, she frowned. “I need Kyle,” she said.

“I know you do,” I told her. “He’ll be right here.” Hopefully not until after he got his client out safely and called Elizaveta Arkadyevna, my wolf pack’s contractual witch.

I heard the front door of the office close and thought that I should have done something to make Kyle leave, too. But I hadn’t known how long our guest would have stayed put—probably exactly “a couple of minutes” from the sounds of it. Not enough time to get Kyle to do anything except call Elizaveta—which he’d done because I heard Elizaveta’s cranky voice; my cell phone distorted it just enough that with the door between us, I couldn’t tell what she was saying.

I wasn’t the only one who heard it. The zombie turned its head to the door.

My first clue about what the woman was had been that her breath had come out smelling fresh and oxygen-rich instead of dulled like someone’s who was really breathing would have. A vampire’s did the same thing, but she didn’t smell like a vampire, not even under the rich scent of the Chanel. The second was the way she’d obeyed what I’d told her. Zombies are supposed to be really cooperative as long as what you tell them doesn’t contradict what their master tells them to do.

“Yes,” Kyle said from the hallway, closing in on the conference room. “This is Kyle Brooks. We’re at my offices. Fine, thank you.” The door popped open. “What’s—”

The zombie launched itself at him.

I knew it was going to do it as soon as Kyle named himself. I was ready when he opened the door. I’m damned fast and I thought I had a handle on it, but that thing was faster than I’d thought it would be. I grabbed its shoulders and yanked it back, so it missed its target. Instead of nailing Kyle’s throat, it latched onto his collarbone.

“Sh—” he cried out, jerking back.

“Stay still,” I told him sharply, and he froze, his eyes on me and not on the zombie gnawing on him.

I don’t often use that tone of voice on anyone, and I hadn’t been sure it would work on a human. But if he tried to pull himself away, he was just going to do more damage to himself.

I tried not to think about the blood staining his shirt because I didn’t know if the witch needed the zombie still up and moving to tell who sent it after Kyle.

And I was damned sure going to get whoever had sent it after Kyle.

If I couldn’t tear the zombie apart, I had to avoid looking at Kyle’s blood. He helped. He didn’t look like a man in pain; he looked thoroughly ticked.

“Get her off,” he gritted, while trying to do it himself. He may be slightly built, but he’s tough, is Kyle. But it had locked its jaw good and tight, and Kyle couldn’t budge it.