Silver Borne (Mercy Thompson #5)(34)

I smiled back at her, a polite smile. "Don't worry about it. I'll stop in another time."

She snapped her fingers. "Wait just a minute. My grandson told me that he'd loaned a nice young woman a rather valuable book that she should be returning soon."

I raised my eyebrows. "Right now I'm interested in a first British edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone." Not really a lie. It would be interesting, and I didn't tell her I was trying to buy one. I don't know if the fae can figure out if someone is lying as well as the werewolves can, but any group that has a prohibition against lying that is as stringent as the fae's probably has a method to detect when it happens.

"He didn't tell me about anything like that," she said suspiciously, as if he would have normally.

But she had lost the chance to convince me that she was Phin's assistant when she allowed my comment that she was a stranger to his store to stand.

"I suspect it'll take him a while," I told her. "I just stopped by to check in with him. I'll come back another time." I stopped the "thanks" that was on the tip of my tongue and substituted "Bye, now" and a casual wave.

I felt her eyes on my back until I was hidden behind rows of cars, and I was glad I'd parked the car a long way from the mall. Sam moved his head off my seat without raising any part of his body enough that he might be seen through the windows. He was hiding.

I looked at him and glanced at the bookstore as I cruised past it on the way out of the parking lot. The woman was back behind the counter going over something that looked like an account book.

Coincidences happen a lot less often in real life than they do in the movies.

"Sam," I said, "are you staying out of sight of a fae? One that smells like all the elements at once?"

He raised his chin and dropped it.

"Is she one of the good guys?" I asked.

He made a gesture that was neither yes nor no.

"Trouble?"

He snorted affirmative.

"Damn it."

I pulled over at a gas station, parked the car, and called Warren, Adam's third in the pack and my friend.

"Hey, Warren," I said when he answered. "Does Kyle have a safe in that monstrosity he lives in?" I could put the book in Adam's safe - and if it weren't fae who were looking for it, I'd feel relatively confident with it hidden and surrounded by werewolves. But Warren's human boyfriend's house would be a much less likely spot to leave it and nearly as safe.

"Several." Warren's voice was dry. "I'm sure he'd be delighted to loan you one. You storin' blackmail material now, Mercy?" There were noises in the background of his phone, people and the kind of echoing you get in a really big building.

"Wouldn't that be something," I said. "How much do you suppose Adam would pay to keep an X-rated video of him off the Internet?"

Warren laughed.

"Yeah," I said sadly, "that's what I think, too. So no riches in my future, and no blackmail either. Can you or Kyle meet Sam and me at Kyle's house sometime soon?"

"I'm on guard duty right now, but I bet Kyle is home. He doesn't always answer the house phone. Do you have his cell number?"

Warren worked for his boyfriend - I know, it's an awkward thing, but Warren hadn't exactly been making rent at the Stop and Rob he'd worked at before. Kyle'd shaken a few trees, bribed a few officials (probably) and maybe blackmailed more, and gotten Warren a private detective's license. Warren guarded clients and did quiet investigations for Kyle's law firm.

"I have it," I told him. "Are you at Wal-Mart?"

"Nope, grocery store. Wal-Mart was an hour ago."

"Poor baby," I said sympathetically.

"Nope," he said, his voice soft. "I'm doin' something useful. This lady deserves to feel safe - though lots of folks seem to think I'm responsible for her black eye."

"You're tough," I said unsympathetically. "You can handle a few nasty looks." Being a g*y werewolf for a hundred years gave Warren a skin so thick it might as well be armor. Not much ruffled his feathers except for Kyle.

"I'm kinda hoping her soon-to-be-ex shows up," he said softly; I thought so she wouldn't hear him. "I'd like to get the opportunity to introduce myself to him."
* * *

KYLE BROOKS'S HOUSE IS IN THE WEST RICHLAND HILLS, where the rich folks live. Huge and yet somehow delicately designed, it settles in among its neighbors like a sly cat among poodles. The size is right, but it's more graceful and comfortable in the desert light than the rest of them. Divorce lawyering, at least in Kyle's case, pays very well.

I parked the Rabbit on the street, let Sam out, and got the book . . . and the walking stick that was lying beside it.

"Hello," I told it. It didn't do anything magical or warm in my hands, but somehow, it felt smug.

I bumped the Rabbit's door closed with a hip and trotted all the way up to Kyle's front door. The significance of the book had just entered a whole new dimension, once the old woman at the bookstore had mentioned it. So I held it with both hands and tucked the walking stick under my arm.

When I got to the front door, I couldn't ring the bell.

Sam saw my dilemma and caught the doorbell with a gentle nudge of one claw. Kyle must have been right by the door, as he'd promised when we talked, because when he opened the door, he was face-to-fang with Sam.