Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

I enjoy the summer heat. So once I was alone, I turned off the cool-air and opened up the bay doors.
    â€œDoes that help?”
    I looked up and saw that the customer from earlier in the day was standing in the open bay door.
    â€œTom Black,” he reminded me.
    â€œDoes what help?” I asked wiping off my hands and taking a sip of water from the bottle balanced precariously on the car’s bumper.
    â€œHumming,” he said. “I was wondering if it helped.”
    There was something about the way he said it that bothered me—as if he was a good friend of mine instead of someone I’d exchanged a few words with. His earlier remark about white belts didn’t make him a martial artist, but his body movement as he walked into my garage did.
    I kept my expression polite, though the coyote in me wanted to lift my lip. He was invading my territory.
    â€œI hadn’t realize I was humming,” I told him. “This is the last car I’m working on today.” I knew it wasn’t his car, because it was one I worked on regularly. “If Gabriel didn’t call you, then we probably won’t get to your car until tomorrow.”
    â€œHow did a pretty woman like you get to be a mechanic?” he asked.
    I tilted my head so I could see him better out of my good eye. Gabriel had told me that if I had kept an ice pack on it longer it wouldn’t have swollen up so badly. On good days, my looks were passable, today hideous and awful were more apt.
    If we had been on neutral territory, I’d probably have said something like, “Gee, I don’t know. How’d a handsome man like you get to be such a pushy bastard?” But this was my place of work and he was a customer.
    â€œSame as all the other pretty mechanics, I expect,” I said. “Listen, I have to get this finished up. Why don’t you call tomorrow morning and Gabriel will have an estimate for when you can expect your car to be done.”
    I walked forward as I said it. The motion should have pushed him back, but he held still so I had to stop or get too close to him. He smelled of coconut sunscreen and cigarette smoke.
    â€œActually I picked my car up earlier,” he said. “I came by tonight to talk to you.”
    He was human, but I saw the same predatory look in his eyes that the wolves had when they were off on a hunt. Being in my own garage had made me feel too safe and I’d let myself get too close to him. I had weapons a plenty in the form of wrenches and crowbars, but they were all out of reach.
    â€œDid you?” I said. “Why?”
    â€œI wanted to ask you how you liked dating a werewolf. Did you know he was a werewolf when you started dating him? Did you have sex with him?” His voice acquired a sudden razor edge.
    It was such a shift in topic that I blinked stupidly at him for a moment.
    This man didn’t smell like a fanatic—hatred has its own scent. When Zee first came out, there was a group of people who’d marched around the shop with placards. Some of them came out one night and spray painted FAIRYLAND in angry red letters across my garage doors.
    Tom Black smelled intense—as if the answers to his questions really mattered to him.
    Outside, a small-block Chevy 350 pulled into my lot and I recognized its purr. With the last of my trepidation gone, I realized there was only one reason for the questions he’d asked.
    I narrowed my eyes at him. “Hell,” I said in disgust. “You’re a reporter.”
    Some of the werewolves coming out deliberately attracted attention on the Marrok’s orders: heroes from the military or police and fire departments and a couple of movie stars. Adam was not one of them. I could see why someone would send a reporter out sniffing around him, though. Not only was he an Alpha, but he was a pretty Alpha. I couldn’t wait to hear what Adam would say when he found out someone was poking into his love life.
    â€œI can make you rich,” Black told me, encouraged, I think, by my smile. “When I’m through with you, you’ll be as much of a celebrity as he is. You can sell your story to the networks.”
    I snorted. “Go away.”
    â€œProblems, Mercy?” The deep, Texas drawl caused the reporter to spin on his heel. I guess he hadn’t heard Warren and his companion walk into the garage.
    â€œNo problems,” I told Warren. “Mr. Black was just