Blood Trail

lax grip and then the freezing cold splash of water over his head and torso.

    Rose tried not to laugh. He looked furious but that she could deal with. "I thought you were going to faint," she offered, backing up a step.

    "If we could change," Peter growled, tossing his head and spraying water from his hair, "I'd chase you into the next county and when I caught you I'd ..."

    "You'd what?" she taunted, dancing out of his reach, suddenly conscious of a strange sense of power. If only she weren't wearing so many clothes.

    "I'd ..." A rivulet of water worked its way past the waistband of his jeans. "I'd ... Damn it, Rose, that's cold! I'd bite your tail off, that's what I'd do!"

    She laughed then, it was impossible not to, and the moment passed.

    "Come on." She picked up the mallet and headed toward the fence. "Let's get this done before Uncle Stuart bites both our tails off."

    Peter grabbed the bale of wire and followed. "But I'm all wet," he muttered, rubbing at the moisture beading the hair on his chest.

    "Quit complaining. Mere moments ago, you were too hot."

    She lifted the mallet over her head and the smell of her sweat washed down over him. Peter felt his ears begin to burn and all at once, he came to a decision. He would go to Carl Biehn's barn tonight.

    He toyed with the idea of telling his Uncle Stuart and then discarded it. One of two things would happen, either he'd dismiss the information about the grasseater out of hand and want to know what this human was up to, or he'd believe the information and want to receive the proof himself. Either way, he, Peter, would be out of the action. That wasn't going to happen.

    He'd tell Uncle Stuart when he had the proof. Present it to him as a fait accompli. That would show the older wer he was someone to be reckoned with. Not a child any longer. Peter's head filled with visions of challenging the alpha male and winning. Of running the pack. Of winning the right to mate.

    His nostrils flared. If he came back with the information that saved the family, it couldn't help but impress Rose.

    "You the young woman who's waiting to see me?"

    Vicki came awake with a start and glanced down at her watch. It was 6:10. "Damn!" she muttered, shoving her glasses back up her nose. Her mouth tasted like the inside of a sewer.
    "Here, maybe this'll help."

    Vicki stared down at the cup of tea that had suddenly appeared in her hand and thought, Why not?

    A moment later she had her answer.

    Because I hate tea. Why did I do that?

    She very carefully set the cup down and forced her scattered wits to regroup. This is the clubroom at the Grove Road Sportman 's Club. So this little old lady in blue jeans must be ....

    "Bertie Reid?"

    "In the flesh. Such as remains of it." The older woman smiled, showing a mouthful of teeth too regular to be real. "And you must be Vicki Nelson, Private Investigator." The smile broadened, the face around it compressing into an even tighter network of fine lines. "I hear you need my help."

    "Yeah." Vicki stretched, apologized, and watched as Bertie settled carefully into one of the gold velour chairs, teacup balanced precisely on one knee. "Barry Wu tells me that if anyone in this city can help, it's you."

    She looked pleased. "He said that? What a sweetie. Nice boy, Barry, bound to be in the medals at the next Olympics."

    "So everyone says."

    "No, everyone says he'll take the gold. I don't. I don't want to jinx the boy before he gets there, neither do I want him to feel badly if he comes home with the silver. Second best in the entire world is nothing to feel badly about and all those armchair athletes who sneer at second deserve a good swift kick in the butt." She took a deep breath and a long draught of tea. "Now then, what did you want to know?"

    "Is there anyone around London, not just at this club, who can shoot with anything approaching Barry Wu's accuracy?"

    "No. Was there anything else?"

    Vicki blinked. "No?" she repeated.

    "Not that I know of. Oh, there're a couple of kids who might be decent if they practiced and one or two old-timers who occasionally show a flash of what they once had but people with Barry's ability and the discipline necessary to develop it are rare." She grinned and saluted with the cup. "That's why they only give out one gold."

    "Shit!"

    The old woman studied Vicki's face for a moment, then put down the teacup and settled back in the chair, crossing one denim clad leg over the other, the lime green laces