Blood Trail

concerned.

    He put her bag into her hand, keeping his own hold on it until he saw her fingers close around the grip, then drew her free arm gently through his. "The path curves," he murmured, close to her ear. "You don't want to end up in Nadine's flowers. Nadine bites."

    Vicki ignored the way his breath against her cheek caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise and concentrated on walking as though she was not being led. She had no doubt that the wer, in wolf form at least, could see just as well as Henry and she had no intention of undermining her position here by appearing weak to however many of them might be watching.

    Head high, she focused on the rectangles of light, attempting to memorize both the way the path felt beneath her sandals and the way it curved from the drive to the house. The familiar concrete and exhaust scents of the city were gone, replaced by what she could only assume was the not entirely pleasant odor of sheep shit. The cricket song she could identify, but the rest of the night sounds were beyond her.

    Back in Toronto, every smell, every sound would have meant something. Here, they told her nothing. Vicki didn't like that, not at all; it added another handicap to her failing eyes.

    Two sudden sharp pains on her calf and another on her forearm, jolted her out of her funk, reminding her of an aspect of the case she hadn't taken into account.

    "Damned bugs!" She pulled her arm free and slapped down at her legs. "Henry, I just remembered something; I hate the country!"

    They'd moved into the spill of light from the house and she could just barely make out the smile on his face.

    "Too late," he told her, and opened the door.

    Vicki's first impression as she stood blinking on the threshold was of a comfortably shabby farmhouse kitchen seething with people and dogs. Her second impression corrected the first: Seething with wer. The people are dogs. Wolves. Oh, hell.

    It was late, nearly eleven. Celluci leaned back in his chair and stared at the one remaining piece of paper on his desk. The Alan Margot case had been wrapped up in record time and he could leave it now to begin its ponderous progress through the courts. Which left him free to attend to a small bit of unfinished business.

    Henry Fitzroy.

    Something about the man just didn't ring right and Celluci had every intention of finding out what that was. He scooped up the piece of paper, blank except for the name printed in heavy block letters across the top, folded it twice, and placed it neatly in his wallet. Tomorrow he'd run the standard searches on Mr. Fitzroy and if they turned up nothing. ... His smile was predatory as he stood. If they turned up nothing, there were ways to delve deeper.

    Some might call what he planned a misuse of authority. Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci called it looking out for a friend.

Four
    "I'm Nadine Heerkens-Wells. You must be Vicki Nelson."

    The woman approaching, hand held out, shared a number of features with Peter and Rose; the same wide-spaced eyes and pointy face, the same thick mane of hair - in this case a dusty black marked with gray - the same short-fingered, heavily callused grip.

    Her eyes, however, were shadowed, and lurking behind that shadow was a loss so deep, so intense, that it couldn't be completely hidden and might never be completely erased. Vicki swallowed hard, surprised by the strength of her reaction to the other woman's pain.

    On the surface, Vicki had absolutely no doubt she faced the person in charge, and Nadine's expression proved that the welcoming smile had originally developed out of a warning snarl.
    Still, I suppose she has no reason to trust me right off, regardless of what Henry 's told her.
    Keeping her own expression politely unchallenging, Vicki carefully applied as much force to the handshake as she received, despite the sudden inexplicable urge to test her strength. "I hope I'll be able to help," she said in her public service voice, meeting the other woman's gaze squarely.

    Force of personality weighted with grief struck her almost a physical blow and her own eyes narrowed in response.

    The surrounding wer waited quietly for the dominant female's decision. Henry stood to one side and watched, brows drawn down in a worried frown. For Vicki to work effectively, the two women had to accept one another as equals, whether they liked it or not.

    Nadine's eyes were brown, with a golden sunburst around the pupil. Deep lines bracketed the corners